Counterfeit
by ladybrit
Summary: Matt Dillon has been gone from Dodge City for a long time when an urgent telegram arrives for Doc.
1. Chapter 1

June 2013

**Counterfeit**

"_When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,_

_He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside. _

_But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail. _

_For the female of the species is more deadly than the male."_

Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936)

Chapter 1

Doctor Adams could smell the coffee as he passed the swing doors of the Long Branch saloon. It certainly smelled better than anything Chester made down at the Marshal's office, so he went on in. He could see Kitty Russell sitting there at the table towards the back of the bar – she was reading a newspaper, searching its pages for any piece of information that would give her a clue as to the whereabouts of Marshal Matt Dillon. Just to the left of her was a plate holding a slice of bread covered with plum preserves and her right hand was holding a coffee cup. There was, Doc had to admit, another reason why he didn't want to go along to the Marshal's office, it was not "his" Marshal that would be there. Chester was there, the same desk, table – even the same checkers board, but a different lawman. Marshal Whitaker was a fine man – but he was not Mathew Dillon.

Kitty looked up at him – delivering a wry smile. He couldn't help but notice how drawn she looked and how she had definitely lost weight during these last few months. Her smile had lost its glow and her eyes no longer had that sparkle of life that used to set her apart from others. Oh she could survive without Matt Dillon – but she would not be the same person as she used to be.

"Come and sit down, Doc." She patted the chair next to her and set a coffee cup on the table in front of it.

Matt had been sent on an out of town assignment. They had no idea where he was, what he was doing or when, even if, he would return. It had not helped matters when about 3 weeks after Dillon had left town a large official US Mail bag had been delivered to the Marshal's office. As usual Chester had opened it, but he soon regretted his actions – inside was a formal coat, a pair of cowhide boots, a gun in its holster and a US Marshal's badge. He instantly recognized all these things and began a fast half hopping, half pacing movement around the office. Fortunately Doc opened the door coming to look for morning coffee. He found Chester alternately wringing his hands and running his fingers through his hair.

"Oh Doc, it's a terrible thing, a terrible thing."  
"What is Chester, calm down and stand still will you?"

Chester pointed to the mail bag.

"I just opened it Doc, it's terrible."  
"You already said that."

Doc gave up trying to get any sense out of Chester and went over to look at the contents of the bag himself.

"It's all Mr. Dillon's stuff. His coat, gun, boots and badge. What do you think it means?"

Doc pulled the grey jacket all the way out of the bag and inspected it carefully. He saw no bullet holes or blood. He picked up the badge and looked at it, likewise the boots and the gun. There was no doubt as to who the owner was but at the same time there was no evidence of any injury having occurred to the person who had been wearing these things.

"I don't know." He ran his hand over his mustache and pulled on his ear, trying to think. "I do know that we mustn't jump to any conclusions."

Chester had never meant to tell Kitty about the coat, but in his flustered state it wasn't many hours before she heard the whole story. She had taken the contents of the bag to her room and after sitting with the coat on her lap for a long time she hung it in her wardrobe. Sometimes she would bury her face in it just to get a whiff of his scent, sadly even that was beginning to fade.

-XX-

Four months earlier a man had stepped down from the stage that arrived in Dodge City from St Louis. He was a very unremarkable middle-aged man, wearing wire rimmed glasses and dressed in city clothes. He was carrying a small leather case in his left hand. He climbed down from the stage and speaking to no one, made his way directly to the Marshal's office where he stayed for almost two hours. Apparently having completed his business there, he crossed the street to get himself a meal at Delmonico's before going to the room he had rented for the night at the Dodge House.

If anyone had been present in the Marshal's office during those two hours, xthey would have noticed the enormous change that came over Dillon when the city man left. At first he sat running his hands through his hair and occasionally shaking his head. Finally unable to sit still any longer he had got up and paced the floor. So many thoughts were going through his mind that he felt pulled in too many directions. At last, it seemed, he came to a decision. He took his gun belt from its designated peg and with short sharp movements fastened it around his waist. Grabbing his hat and firmly slamming it on his head he left the insulating confines of the office and made his way along Front Street towards the one place in town that he could think of as home, a home that he was soon to leave and not know when, or even if, he would be back. He couldn't tell anyone the reason for his hurried departure and he knew this was going to hurt the one person he cared about more than life itself. It was strange that somehow he could never bring himself to tell her that fact, the feelings were there, but the words would never come, and maybe now he wouldn't have the opportunity to even try.

Kitty Russell became aware of the familiar footsteps on the boardwalk and felt her heart give a little jump. No matter how many times she had heard him approach the Long Branch – it always had that effect on her. This time however something was different. She could tell by the rhythm of his step that something was not right.

She glanced up in time to see him looking over the swing doors that marked the entrance to the saloon and now she could see it in his face too, a shadow, a burning, a sadness all melded into one look.

It was all she could do to keep herself from running to him, wanting to feel his arms around her so he could calm her fears, tell her everything would be alright. But that was not to be. He came over and quietly put his hand on her elbow, steering her towards the small office behind the bar.

She did not resist him, but almost felt herself go weak at the thought of what could be so terribly wrong.

He reached back and closed the door once they were inside, then turning towards her he put his arms around her. He was trying to tell her something, but the words would not come.

"Matt, what's wrong!" she almost cried.

His breathing was fast and heavy, he released her and indicated that she should sit in the chair by the desk. He had no idea how to begin, how to tell her what was going to happen, how to tell her how he felt.

She remained silent, knowing that he often had a difficult time finding the right words.

"Kitty, I have to go out of town for a while."

She looked at him carefully; leaving town was nothing unusual for him. He was gone at least once a month, either to Hays or Wichita or even down to the Territories.

"I may be gone a long time."

What did he mean by that? A few days seemed a long time to her, many times he was gone a week and one time it was almost 6 weeks – that had been an eternity.

"Kitty, I have.." he struggled for the words, "I can't tell you anything but I have to go…" he was pacing the floor now.

"What are you trying to tell me?"  
"I don't know how long I'll be gone, maybe months. I don't want to leave but it is my job."

"Months? Where are you going?"  
"I can't tell you, it wouldn't be safe." He didn't want to tell her that as yet he didn't really know where he would be going.

She took a big breath trying to hold back tears

"When are you leaving?"  
"Early tomorrow."

-XX-

She remembered now those awful moments. It had been early spring when he had left, now summer was pulling into the dog days and no word had been heard from him in all that time.

She remembered their last night together, could still imagine the feel of his arms wrapped around her. She had not slept at all, not wanting to miss a single second of lying next to him. It had been in the darkness of night but she had been able to sense, as much as see him breathing, sometimes moving an arm or a leg and occasionally uttering some indecipherable sound. For the longest time he had held her while he slept but eventually a dream had disturbed him so that he turned in his repose. Before the sun was even up he had woken, she knew their time was brief now, and put her hands to his face feeling its familiar rugged contours. Gently they had clung together, each trying to comfort the other, until at last he whispered, not trusting himself to speak any louder.

"I have to go now Kitty." Those were the last precious sounds she had heard from him. He did not want her to come down to the street; no one was to see him leave.

As Quartermaine had requested he dressed in his formal coat and string tie –"try to look like a city man" the government official had told him.

He turned to look at her one last time and she tried to store that image in her mind so it would stay there till he returned.

"Make sure you come back to me Cowboy," she whispered, barely able to get the words out. She certainly didn't want him to see her crying, it was obviously difficult enough for him without that.

-XX-

Her mind came back to the present. Doc hadn't asked her the obvious question. If she had any news, he would be the first one to know about it anyway.

"Anything in the newspaper?" he asked. She stopped scanning the pages for a moment. "It's last week's, from Wichita, and no there is nothing of interest that I can find."

They both knew what 'of interest' meant. For them it would be any word of a certain Marshal.

"Let's face it Doc we don't even know where he is."

She almost sounded desperate – as if she could break down in tears with the worry of it all – but that would not be Kitty Russell. If she cried or gave into feelings of self-pity, it would be in her room, when she was alone, in the dark solitude of night.

"He'll make it back. Matt is a very resourceful man." Doc had been repeating that mantra to himself every day.

They sat in a comforting silence, each picturing the same man, but in a different way, each denying the ultimate fear that he may not still be alive.

The Physician was about to take his leave – he had a number of patients to see that morning and staying busy was all he had to work on right now. He had gathered up his old medical bag with one hand and was about to claim his hat with the other when the batwing doors swung open and Barney from the telegraph office appeared in somewhat of an anxious state.

"Doc I've been looking all over for you. This came in, marked urgent. I brought it right along quick as I could."

"All right, all right, slow down there for a minute." Doc noticed the old operators reddened face and agitated hands as he took the green envelope. Barney knew the contents already but Doc needed to read it for himself. He hoped it was not…no if that had been the case Barney would have blurted it out right then and there, regardless of Kitty sitting listening to every word.

"It's from St. Louis Doc, from a small station at the Stage depot on the eastern edge of town. Not a very skilled operator either."

Doc's hands never shook or fumbled, but he had trouble opening the envelope and taking out the piece of paper inside. He knew Kitty was watching his every action looking for a clue as to the contents before he could read it to her.

He read it quickly and handed the flimsy note to Kitty.

"There is no reply right now Barney, but I think we'd all appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone else about this."  
The elderly man stood there waiting. He knew the contents of the message but wanted to know more, hopefully Doc would discuss it with him.

"You can go back to your office now Barney." Doc emphasized the words hoping the man would catch his meaning, "thank you for delivering it so promptly."

At last the man turned and left.

"What does it mean?" Kitty asked.

"I don't know exactly but I think I am taking a trip to St. Louis. There's an East bound stage leaving this afternoon – I'll go down to the depot and buy a ticket.

"Make that two Doc, I'm coming with you,"

"Now Kitty – we don't even know that this is from Matt, or what trouble there might be. You'd better let me go alone."  
"Oh no you don't, we're both going and that is final."

The physician knew better than to argue with Kitty Russell when her mind was made up. He started for the door.

"Do you think we should tell Chester or Toby Whitaker where we're going?" Kitty was thinking ahead now.

"I think they both left town this morning to ride to Hays with a prisoner that Toby arrested last week, anyway if this is from Matt and he had wanted Whitaker to know about it – he would have sent him word already."

Doc started to head towards the saloon doors. He needed to go see his morning patients.

"I'll go to the stage office Doc, people know I have friends in St. Louis so there will be no comment."

After the Physician had left, Kitty sat back down at the table and read the message on the green flimsy paper once more.

_To Doctor G Adams, Dodge City Kansas._

_A friend of yours needs help. Contact Jimmie Mathews through this office._

It was signed_ JM._

That was all.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 2

Matt could still remember the morning he left Dodge. As he lay there on a dirty mattress rammed beneath a cobwebbed stairway in a deserted warehouse, his mind kept wandering. That one scene played over and over in his mind. It had been the hardest thing he had ever done to leave the warm soft bed above the Long Branch that morning and walk out into the harshness of the unknown. One final kiss and then he had grabbed his gun belt and left before he lost his resolve. If he closed his eyes he could still hear her parting words, and see the salty tears welling up in her eyes. She tried not to let them show, but he knew they were there.

His problems had started the afternoon before that. The man in the city suit was Nathanial Quartermaine at least that is how he had introduced himself, and he carried a letter from the office of the Attorney General signed by Attorney General Charles Devens himself, confirming that was so. The letter also told Matt that Quartermaine would explain an assignment that needed doing. Matt was under no obligation to accept it, it would not be without risk, but the wellbeing of this nation could depend on a successful outcome. Somehow Matt Dillon's name had come up as the one man that may be able to carry it out. Of course there was no way he could refuse. That badge, his devotion to this nation, struggling to reinvent itself after years of civil war, the ideals of law and order it brought to a westward moving frontier, all these things would not let him say no. At the time he could not have brought himself to refuse, although if he had known the many dangers that lay waiting ahead for him, he might have thought longer and harder before saying yes.

He searched for the canteen that had been left within reach for him. He remembered to move slowly, even so, pain shot like fiery knives through his leg. He fought to hang on to consciousness hoping the bleeding wouldn't start again, then tried to relax against the make shift pillow while he waited for the hurt to subside.

His mind went back once more to that afternoon in his office in Dodge City, how long ago had it been? Maybe three or four months, he had lost count of time. Nathanial Quartermaine had told him a story that would maybe cost him his life.

-XX-

A group of individuals in New York City had started making counterfeit paper money. To begin with their fake bills were not very good and were easily spotted. With time they improved – they must have found a new artist to engrave the plates - and what they were producing now was barely distinguishable from the real thing. Furthermore, somehow or another they were acquiring the special paper and ink used in the official printing process.

About a year ago, in 1877, the Bureau of Engraving and Printing had been given the charge of printing American money. At the time they were located in the basement of the Department of the Treasury in Washington DC. A special agency -The Secret Service - had been started to track down counterfeit money and eliminate its source, but so far no one had managed to stop this group. Two agents had come close, but their bodies had been found in the Potomac River and all trails leading to the counterfeiters had vanished. Recently evidence came to light, that they had moved their operation and were now working out of Richmond Va.

"Where do I come into this picture?" Dillon had asked the obvious question.

Quartermaine got up from the table on which he had been sitting and paced the room for a few minutes.

"What I am going to tell you is very er.. sensitive information, Marshal. It cannot go beyond this room."

"I understand." The lawman leaned a little further back in his chair as Quartermaine, once again, parked his hip on the corner of the small table that stood in the middle of the office.

"You have to understand that if too much of this counterfeit money enters into circulation it will have the effect of devaluing our currency which would cause wide spread panic among the people and drain our banking system. It could even bring about the downfall of the whole federal system. Somehow it has to be stopped. Just lately a fair number of the bogus notes have shown up in Kansas City and Wichita. It seems they are moving their operation westward. In actual fact we think the printing is still being done in Virginia, but they are selling the fake money to other dealers at a discount from the face value. Those dealers are carrying it westwards. Dodge would be a ripe target Marshal, so much cash exchanging hands at cattle auctions. A man would only have to buy a few thousand head of beeves with bogus bills, then ship the cattle back east and sell them at a profit. Double profit in that scenario, and we believe it may be about to happen, or worse still may already have happened."

"I'd be glad to check the money here in Dodge and watch for these counterfeit bills," Dillon replied – wondering what all the big fuss was about if that was what they wanted him to do.

"We need more than that. We want the plates that they are printing from. Once we have those we can track down and arrest the artist who engraved them and that will put the counterfeiters out of business for a long time."

At that point Dillon still did not see where he came into this picture.

-XX-

It was not even daylight when he and Quartermaine boarded the stage east. They were the only passengers and the driver was a man Dillon was not familiar with. He introduced himself as Tourney Williams, and told the two men it would be a direct ride to Topeka Kansas. There would no other passengers boarding and the few breaks they would take would be just long enough to change horses. They should make it to Topeka in less than twenty-four hours.

Dillon turned to look at the government man.

"This is no regularly scheduled stage run, Quartermaine, the east bound stage isn't supposed to leave for another half hour."

"That's true Marshal," the man replied, not volunteering any other information. He indicated with his hand that they should board the coach. Carefully Matt climbed inside and took the seat facing the horses, leaving the other for the city man.

No sooner where they seated than the stage moved off – slowly at first till they were clear of Dodge, then he heard the driver whip up the horses and soon they were careening along the east bound trail at an unusually high rate of speed. The coach swung wildly from side to side as the horses sped up but both men sat back in their seats, trying to appear relaxed. Dust and small rocks were flying around outside – stirred up by the horses hooves and the iron rimmed wheels and they could be heard hitting the sides of the coach. A few even made it into the compartment by finding a way around the window shades that were pulled firmly down. About ten minutes into the ride Quartermaine leaned forward.

"Marshal, take off your badge and hand it to me."

Matt looked at his travelling companion, not fully comprehending his request.

Quartermaine waited a second or two then extended his right hand, palm up.

"Your badge, please, Marshal."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 3

Kitty Russell left the Long Branch and made her way along the boardwalk to the Stage depot. Her heart sank when the clerk told her the stage that day was fully booked, and the next available seats would be on Friday's stage – 2 days away.

"Thanks" she told the man, "but I really need to leave today."

"You going to visit your cousins there Miss Kitty?"  
"Something like that," she replied. She was aware that most of the regulars around Dodge City knew that the Marshal had been gone a long time and either felt sorry for her or were ready to gloat thinking that a saloon owner had no business with a lawman anyway and maybe he had just up and left her.

She left the depot and walked along further towards the Santa Fe office. She had to get to St. Louis as quickly as possible. She just knew that Matt needed her. It worried her a little that neither she nor Doc had ever heard of Jimmie Mathews. That name itself could hardly be coincidence but at the same time dictated caution. All she could feel was turmoil inside her brought on by the urgency of the situation.

It was quite a long walk in the heat of the August day, but in her anxiety she did not notice the weather, her focus was entirely on finding Matt Dillon.

An elderly man wearing a typical railroad cap made from faded blue fabric, greeted her from behind the window in the office.

"Good day Miss Russell," he said with a half smile, "what can I do for you?"

"I need to know how quickly I can get to St Louis."

The man pulled out battered copies of several railroad schedules and ran his finger over long columns of numbers, then he flipped a few pages and repeated the process, mumbling to himself the whole time.

"If you leave tomorrow morning, you can be there in just under two days, it will involve one change of trains, but if everything is on time that should not be a problem."

"I'll take it," she told him. "I need two tickets."

Feeling frustration that she could not get started right away, she never the less managed to hide her feelings and make her way back to the Long Branch.

The morning business was in full swing when she entered the saloon. She wanted to go upstairs and pack a bag, but instead decided to help Sam and Freddie cope with the lunchtime crowds. She had a constant feeling of worry nagging inside her as she served beers and whisky to the cowboys and regulars who came in to sample the free snacks that were set out for lunch. She kept telling herself there was nothing she could do right now. She would feel better once she was headed towards St. Louis. She could not get rid of the feeling that Matt needed her.

'Hang on Matt we'll be there soon' she kept thinking in her mind.

-XX-

The boy looked to be about 13 or 14 years of age. Taking a very indirect route he made his way back to the warehouse to check on the man he didn't really know. He had stopped at corners, doubled back around buildings but so far seen no one trailing him. He had secured the supplies they needed and managed to get the telegram sent, of course Mathews as he now thought of the man, did not know about that. The boy didn't even know who to ask for help, but he put all his hope on the DR. G. Adams that he had been told to go to in Dodge City. He knew that was what they needed – a doctor and a good one at that. There was another name the man kept saying, "Kitty," he had said it many times, but the boy figured "Doc" would be more useful under the circumstances.

In reality it had not been a fourteen year old boy who had persuaded the young inexperienced night clerk to send the message, but at least it had gone through. Hopefully it would bring some help, because right now he did not know what else to do. To be honest he was not sure if the man would still be alive if it took too long before help arrived. And without the man, the boy's future looked pretty grim.

One final look around to check that all was clear and the surprisingly delicate looking boy pushed on the rusting warehouse door and made his way through the semidarkness to the half rotten stairway. He figured this was far enough back in the dark that if anyone should come and look inside the deserted building, they would see nothing.

He had managed to earn a few coins carrying bags for passengers at the stage depot, not the heavy bags of course – he could not lift those – but at least it gave him a reason to hang around and watch out for this "Doc" should he arrive.

Sometimes he had to remind himself that he was not the character he was playing, he didn't want to lose his real identity but right now that one was too dangerous and Maman (she always thought of her with the French word) had said to live the part and that's what she was doing.

The man was pretty much out of it when he got to the stairway. He pulled back the old coat that acted as a cover and with nervous, delicate fingers started to change the dressing covering the leg wound. It looked angry and red and as far as he could tell the bullet was still in there. All he could do was try to keep it clean until "Doc" arrived, and he hoped that would be soon.

He managed to get the man to drink some water – but the only food he had been able to find was some stale bread thrown out by a bakery, and there was no way to get him to eat that. He needed to be in a cleaner place than this – but this was all that was available to two people on the run.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 4

Topeka, it had turned out, was nowhere near their final destination. The stagecoach had stopped a block or so from the railroad depot and the two men had walked in the darkness to the train that was waiting to depart. Matt felt almost naked and certainly vulnerable without his badge, but at least he still had his gun.

"Where are we going?" he had repeatedly asked the city man, but the only answer he got was "you'll see when we get there."

They were occupying a small private compartment near the rear of the train. Matt had felt the locomotive start to move almost as soon as they had boarded. He figured they were moving in a northeasterly direction, but other than that he had no idea where they were headed. He felt helpless without any control over the situation he found himself in, and that worried him. His fate was totally dependent on another man and he didn't like that unfamiliar feeling. Several times he had felt for the handle of the colt pistol that still hung on his right hip, just to reassure himself, and more than once wondered if he should just leave Quartermaine and return home. Who was this man and did he trust him? He would agree to go along with him for a little longer, but when they stretched out on the two long seats that were on either side of the compartment, he did not relax enough sleep.

Three days went by – meals seemed to arrive at their door on a regular basis and the small privy a little further along the car seemed to be for their use alone.

The second day of the train ride, Quartermaine started a conversation with the lawman.

"There are some facts I want you to learn. Your name from hereon is John Henry Weeks.

"John Henry is a business man from Colorado with less than admirable social ethics. As far as the people you meet are going to know, he is looking to get into the bogus money business, planning to drop the fake bills in many cities west of the Mississippi. Weeks is married and has two children a girl of six called Samantha and a boy of nine named Dermot. His wife's name is Mary – she comes from Irish stock.

"What the people you will be meeting don't know is that we picked up Mr. John Weeks about a month ago in New York City and he is now under arrest in a secluded facility in Washington. He sends weekly letters back to his family and always encloses some money for them, that way they are not complaining. We also know that the people you will be meeting have never met Mr. Weeks, so you should have no problem there."

Matt started to object; he had never been anyone except himself and was not sure he could carry this off.

"Don't worry, we are going to coach you through it."

"Mr. Weeks is a tall skinny man, fortunately he has blue eyes and dark hair. He is a bit of a womanizer and appears to have a preference for those about fifteen or twenty years younger than himself. He, incidentally, is 34 years of age." He went on to describe several of John Henry's less desirable qualities, but was interrupted by a knock on the compartment door and a waiter entered with a large lunch tray. After the meal had been set out for them Quartermaine continued.

"Tomorrow in the early hours of the morning – before the sun is up we will arrive at our destination, and you will learn more then. Please try to remember what I have told you already."

The window shades were pulled down in their compartment, and for Dillon who had not had any real sleep since leaving Dodge, the rhythmic rocking of the train became almost hypnotic and several times he caught himself nodding off and would wake with a start. Sometimes in those brief moments he thought of Kitty, he could still see her tear filled eyes as they said goodbye. Other times he would remain alert by trying to figure out who this man was that he was traveling with. Where did he fit into all this?

It was difficult to judge the passage of time, but it was around suppertime on the third day when Quartermaine said they were nearing their destination.

The train slowed to a stop in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. The two men climbed down from the carriage they had been riding in, at what was little more than a place where a well-worn trail crossed the railroad track. They both stood and watched as the train pulled away and slowly gathered speed. Soon after it was out of sight a small wagon pulled into view. No words were exchanged with the driver as the two men climbed aboard. They travelled for about an hour before Matt saw they were coming into a city. There were a few gas lamps here and there and sometimes the road was paved with cobblestones.

Eventually they pulled up in front of a large building. It was too dark to see it clearly, but Quartermaine indicated that they had arrived at their destination and both men left the wagon and entered the building through a big, heavy oak door that was opened for them.

Dillon found himself in a large elaborately decorated hallway with an enormous stairway at the far end, towards which they were led. He noticed the carved polished wood of the bannister rail and the heavy carpet on the treads. From the top of the stairs they were directed to a room on the right hand side. The door was opened and they were ushered in.

The most obvious thing in the room was an enormous mahogany desk. Dillon thought back to his desk in Dodge, this one was about four times the size. On the wall behind the desk was a portrait of the familiar figure of the nineteenth president of the United States, Rutherford B Hays.

Dillon also recognized the somewhat stocky man with a well-trimmed white beard sitting behind the desk, even though he had never met him. The man rose from his chair and stepped forward with his hand outstretched.

Dillon shook the hand offered by the man who signed his paycheck, the Attorney General, Mr. Charles Devens.

"Mr. Devens, Sir, I never thought I would actually get to meet you."

"Marshal Dillon, it is I who am honored. Thank you for coming all this way, I hope you will be able to help us solve our little problem. I think Mr. Quartermaine has explained the difficulties we are having with counterfeit money entering into circulation in large amounts. The Secret Service, since its inception about twelve years ago has been charged with investigating and eradicating this problem, but it is a small force and recently several of its members have been killed while pursuing the perpetrators of this crime. Marshal, you have been very effective in bringing law and order to your territory and we hoped you could help us out here. In fact, with your permission, I have agreed to place you on loan to their department. This group of counterfeiters seems to know all of our agents; they may even have some source of inside information. We thought that by bringing you here, someone from outside whothey did not know, perhaps we would have a better chance of bringing them to justice. We believe, anyway, that they will soon be bringing their counterfeit money to your territory, so sooner or later you are going to be involved with these people, and better to get this under control now before they bring unrest and trouble for you and other lawmen out there in the western regions." The Attorney General turned to his left and indicated a quiet looking man, clean shaven, short but well built. "May I introduce Mr. James Brooks to you Marshal Dillon. He is the Director of the Secret Service." The men shook hands, and Matt noted his firm prolonged grip, and grey piercing eyes.

"Marshal, Mr. Brooks has a lot of ideas to discuss with you. This is his office and I shall leave you now. I just have to wish you luck and tell you that the very future of this country may depend upon the mission that you are about to undertake."

With that he headed towards the door and Dillon noticed that Quartermaine who was still standing there, reached and opened it for him.

Brooks indicated two chairs by an empty fireplace and he and Dillon headed towards them. Quartermaine continued to stand by the door.

The Director turned briefly to the man standing by the door, "Pour us some brandy Nathan, and have one yourself – then pull up a chair and join the conversation."

Within a few minutes the three men were deeply engrossed in a discussion of counterfeit money and what could be done to put a stop to it.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 5

Doctor Adams saw six patients that morning, but towards afternoon things became quiet in his office and he began to look around and decide what he needed to take with him to St. Louis. The telegram said a friend needed help – but what kind of help? It had been addressed to him as Dr. G Adams, so he could only presume the friend needed medical help – but then there were excellent medical facilities in St. Louis so why were his skills needed there? Was Matt even the friend referred to? It could even be some kind of trap being set – but by whom or for what reason he could not guess. He really thought it could turn out to be a dangerous situation and that it would be better if Kitty did not go with him – but he also knew it was useless to put forth that argument to the feisty red head.

He always felt uneasy about leaving the people of Dodge without a Doctor for any length of time, but where Marshal Dillon was concerned he knew he had no choice but to drop everything and go – he never asked for help except in dire circumstances – of course there was always the possibility that this had nothing to do with the Dodge City Lawman. Hopefully he would only be gone for four or five days.

Thinking it through he decided to put a few basic instruments into his black bag along with some bandages, his stethoscope and a small bottle of Laudanum.

Kitty, meanwhile had talked with Sam explaining that she would be gone for a few days, hopefully no more than a week.

"Is it something to do with the Marshal, Miss Kitty?"

"I don't know Sam, but Doc is coming with me, and if it is, we will bring him back safe and sound."

She tried hard to sound confident about the trip, but there were so many possibilities behind the brief telegram that she could not bring herself to consider them all. She had always been one to think positively, never allowing herself to dwell on the dark side of things for long. This had to work out all right, there was no way she could go on not knowing what was happening to the man who had stolen her heart. If the telegram had come from Matt, she knew he was in trouble and she would move heaven and earth to help him.

She went up to her room after the lunchtime business had slowed down and tried to decide what she should take. Just some simple clothes for travel, a change of undergarments and some toiletries – that should be enough. Carefully she packed them in a medium sized carpet bag. At the last minute she picked up the Derringer that she kept tucked in a drawer and added some bullets, which she tucked down in the bag. The small pistol went into her reticule – you never could be too prepared. With that thought in mind her eye caught Matt's holster and pistol – it was lying there in the bottom of her armoire, right where she left it the day it came home to Dodge. She looked at it for a second or two, then thinking it just might come in useful, she took the colt pistol and pushed it into the bag she would be taking, covering it with the clothes she had already packed.

-XX-

The Marshal had very little knowledge of the problems with counterfeit money. He knew that since the end of the civil war it had been appearing in the some of the bigger cities, but never understood the extent of the problem. Director Brooks was continuing with his explanation and Matt was doing his best to learn all he could. According to Brooks, at one time as much as one third of the currency in circulation had been counterfeit.

"If this were generally known it would drastically devalue the currency and could even bring about the downfall of the new nation."

In 1865 President Lincoln had established the Secret Service Division of the Treasury and it was their mission to investigate and bring to justice all persons associated with the crime of counterfeiting. They had done a good job to begin with and with redesign of the currency, using special inks and paper and a more complicated design, the amount of fake bills had declined. In the last year or so counterfeiting was once more on the increase. The perpetrators were becoming cleverer. The plates they had produced for printing the bogus currency were much more like the real thing and somehow they seemed to be getting hold of the official paper and inks used by the treasury.

To begin with it seemed they were working out of New York, and a group of agents had tracked them down almost to the point of recovering the illegal plates, but then those agents just disappeared, never heard from again. The group responsible had moved their operation to Richmond Virginia and again service agents had been on their trail – only to wind up in the James River. Maybe Nathan here has already told you some of this?"

"Some," said Dillon – "but please continue."

"Fortunately we became aware of a Mr. John Henry Weeks who had been in contact with the group we are after. He is not a particularly honest man and we managed to find sufficient charges to hold him for a while. Before his arrest he had arranged a meeting with Clement Mendoza, the man who acts as a drummer for the counterfeiters. He arranges to sell the bogus bills to individuals for a discounted rate and then they will pass them out as legitimate currency. Mendoza is not our prime target, we want two things, those plates and the people at the top of the organization. To put it briefly we want you to take Weeks's place and find out who these people are and try to get those plates."

"That is a tall order, Mr. Brooks. I have never done this kind of work before. I am not sure I could recognize a counterfeit bill if I saw one."

"We are going to teach you, Marshal. In about ten days time you will be an expert. You will also learn to be John Henry Weeks."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 6

Jimmie Mathews looked around at the place they were hiding. It was damp and from time to time a rat would run across the floor. To begin with that was scary, but you can get used to things in time and they come to be the accepted norm.

At the time of their first meeting Jimmie knew this man was different from the others that Mr. Colter entertained. He had honest eyes and ….well that first meeting was definitely not like any other that Mr. Colter arranged.

Now he looked over at the man, if Colter's men had followed them to St. Louis it would not be long before they would be discovered. Jimmie removed the dirty cloth cap from his head and shook the long dark hair loose. This was a long way from the grand theatres and opera houses of Europe that had been like a childhood home, but for now it was the best available.

Mr. Weeks became restless he was tossing his head and mumbling incoherently. If the wound in his leg began bleeding again they would be in trouble. The character that was Jimmie Mathews felt alone.

-XX-

Dillon and Quartermaine had left the office of Director Brooks. It was dark outside except for a few lamps and they made their way along a paved sidewalk to another building. The city man produced a key and unlocked a side door, inviting the lawman inside. There was not much of note in this house – it could have been one of the better homes in Dodge City – or even the Dodge House, but smaller. He led the way along a fairly narrow passage to the back of the building.

"We will be staying here for a few days, tomorrow I will take you to the treasury to start learning about counterfeit currency." He opened the door to a comfortably furnished bedroom and told Dillon this would be his for the duration. He pointed across the hallway to another door, "I'll be over there so if you need anything just come and get me. Meantime get yourself a good night's sleep."

The tall lawman looked around the room he had been given, there were a couple of unremarkable pictures hung on the walls. A small washstand and mirror stood in one corner and against the far wall, by the window, was a small dresser. He sat on the bed experimentally and was surprised to find it quite comfortable. Removing his coat and string tie, he couldn't help glancing down at the empty space where his badge used to be. He thought back to Dodge City, to Kitty and Doc and Chester and _his_ office, it seemed an age ago that he had left them. Slowly he removed his boots and lay back on the pillows.

Sleep did not come easily, even though he was tired from travelling and trying to stay alert. At first he hadn't totally trusted Quartermaine, but since seeing him in the presence of Devens and Brooks he had to accept that he was who he claimed to be. Kitty's face kept appearing in his mind. The red hair and the blue eyes that were rapidly filling with tears the last time he saw her, the image was so clear in his mind. He hoped Sam and Chester would see that she was safe while he was gone.

Eventually both his mind and body relaxed and he slept.

-XX-

It was early morning when Doc and Kitty rode the short distance to the station in a buggy driven by Mr. Jonas. Doc had impressed upon the man that he was accompanying Kitty on a short trip to visit some friends and they would not be gone long. No word of the telegram was ever mentioned.

It was hot inside the train and even once they got going the breeze generated by the movement of air through the open windows did not seem capable of displacing the stale air that smelled of unbathed cowboys and sweaty cattle. Kitty had tried to get a sleeper compartment but there were none available so she and Doc just had to sit there and while away the hours ahead with small talk and words to encourage each other. She had brought a few snacks to sustain them and a small book to read. Doc seemed content to close his eyes from time to time and nap. The two days it would take to get to St. Louis would seem like an eternity, but at least she felt like she was getting closer to Matt with each passing hour.

-XX-

It must have been early when Quartermaine knocked on the Marshal's door.

"Let's go get breakfast," he called "you have a busy day ahead."

Matt opened his eyes – still uncertain of where he was.

"Give me ten minutes," he replied through the fog that seemed to permeate his brain. Even so by the time he had washed and dressed his head was clear and the city man led them both to another room off the hallway where a table was set. Shortly after they sat down a short arthritic looking man appeared with plates and set them on the table. Whatever else may be going on they were providing a plentiful meal and both men set about enjoying it. "First thing today we are going to meet a tailor to fit you for some new clothes, you have to appear the part and those you are wearing will not do. Then I am taking you to the treasury where you will begin learning about counterfeit bills and about the man you will be impersonating."

Dillon didn't really like the sound of all that, but the sooner he got on with this job the sooner he would be back in Dodge.

The next few days were arduous. Filled with instruction as to how money was printed, what kind of paper was used, how to detect forgeries, what the printing press and plates looked like and the current price range for buying counterfeit bills. He also had to learn about John Henry Weeks, his background, his manner and worst of all his less than desirable social ethics.

After breakfast on the fourth day, Quartermaine told Dillon he needed to hand over all his clothes, everything he brought from Dodge – including his gun. The lawman must have looked surprised.

"We can't give Mendoza any reason to suspect you are anyone other than John Henry Weeks. Although your regular attire is suitable for where you come from, it would stand out among a group of city men. You will need time to get used to the new clothes, get accustomed to wearing them comfortably, moving around in them, knowing where the pockets are and all that. In a few more days you will be meeting these people."

"Why did you take my badge back there on the train?"

"If anyone saw someone new in town wearing the badge of a lawman, it would raise suspicion and maybe lead to your being recognized later.

Matt had a hard time parting with his coat, as he handed it over he could not help but remember some of the times he had worn it. The meals at Delmonico's with his beautiful red head sitting beside him, a few buggy rides out on the prairie, how she laughed and smiled at him when he had worn it to the Ford County Sociable. His fingers lingered on the cloth for a second or two, almost feeling her touch where she would hold his arm. It was as if she was being taken from him.

Quartermaine could see something in the lawman's face, somehow these things he was parting with meant a lot to him.

"Don't worry I will personally be responsible for seeing that everything is returned to you when this is over."

The man was true to his word but would never know the worry and consternation caused to several people in Dodge City because he kept that promise.  
"What about my gun."

"That too I'm afraid, Marshal. Most people you will be mixing with carry guns but not in a holster like you are used to. You will find they carry it in a shoulder holster concealed under a coat or jacket. Of course the weapon will be smaller than you are used to, but we will see you have chance to practice with it."

Matt felt the familiar comfort of the colt handle as he swung it round his fingers for what he imagined could be the last time. It had been a good friend, always reliable, never jammed or fired crooked and had saved his life on numerous occasions. Now he spun it around one last time before handing it over to Quartermaine.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 7

Matt was beginning to regret he ever got into this. The new clothes he was wearing were not as comfortable as the soft shirt and well-worn vest he was used to. The gun they gave him felt more like a toy or something a lady would carry. They had taken his own clothes away – Quartermaine had told him that something as simple as a strange manufacturer's label in a coat or shirt could give the whole game away. They even gave him some shiny short leather boots instead of his trail worn cowhide ones. If Kitty could only see him now, he sighed to himself.

It was to be his final training session; he was down in the print shop in the basement of the treasury. The man who was responsible for the process was Milton Carney, he was about 50 years of age and had a stooped stance from spending endless hours watching over the printing press. There was a young apprentice there also, a kid barely out of his teens Dillon thought. The apprentice's name was Willie Taylor and he was supposed to be responsible for keeping the inks for the printer filled, and making sure there was enough paper available to keep the process going. He had a surly attitude and Carney was always having to tell him to keep up.

"Young men of today don't know how to work," he complained to the lawman.

Today he was demonstrating how the printing press worked, and how to find the plates and remove them from the machine.

Just two more days to go until Matt could begin his assignment in earnest, He was not especially looking forward to it, but the sooner he got started the sooner he would finish. These last two days were set aside for him to learn about John Henry Weeks. He had been given several sheets of paper with hand written notes about the man whose place he was to take. He had read and done his best to learn them. Now he was sitting in a room with Brooks, Quartermaine and another man he was never introduced to. They fired questions at him, addressed him as Weeks or John and occasionally as Matt or Dillon. The trick was to respond to the correct name and forget his own. It was more difficult than he could have imagined. He kept running his finger under the uncomfortable, unfamiliar collar around his neck.

"Mr. Weeks," it was Brooks speaking, "you cannot keep doing that, it will give you away, these are supposed to be clothes you wear every day of your life and are comfortable in. The men you will be dealing with are always on the look out for the law and will spot any little detail that is not perfect."

Dillon got to his feet and paced the room a time or two.

"Look maybe I am just not cut out for this line of work." He ran his hand through his hair, and was surprised to find that he was sweating. "Give me a bank robber to track or a murderer to take down, something where I can be myself and use the skills I have developed. This is something I am not cut out for."

Brooks took a deep breath.

"Listen Marshal, we need your help. We need someone with the skills you have, and the physical strength to carry out this mission. We have no one left in the service who can do it. By the time we train someone new it could be too late. We need you."

Brooks was patient and understood what the man in front of him was going through, he wanted to give him time, but time was limited. The real Weeks was scheduled to meet with Mendoza in two days and someone had to be there to play that role. He watched in silence as Dillon paced the room a few more times. He could only imagine what the man was going through. Here was someone who was used to enforcing the law with his strength, his skill with a gun, everything was direct and out in the open. This was going to be totally different. Trying to play the role of another person, being away from the life he was used to, wearing strange clothes and using subterfuge instead of facing the problem head on, none of this could be easy for him. He wanted to give him time to adjust – but time was something he did not have.

As for Dillon – he was tired of being inside buildings – not seeing the sun or feeling the wind. He felt almost imprisoned and missed the freedom to come and go as he pleased, that he had in Dodge. The only time he went outside was to and from the house where he and Quartermaine were staying, and then it was always before the sun came up, or in the evening darkness. He understood the need to stay hidden, who knew where the counterfeiters had eyes watching who was coming and going? But he could not live like this for long, he felt trapped and caged with no control over his life. Finally he got his frustration back under control and Brooks watched with satisfaction as the tall man sat back down at the desk and the questions started once more.

At last it was over. Matt figured he knew as much about paper currency as he was ever likely to need. Milton Carney had been a good teacher, he explained the linen based paper on which the bills were printed, the special green ink used on the reverse side of the bills – which earned them the name of 'greenbacks' - and how to look for various seals and serial numbers on the face of the notes. The printer had a collection of old bills – some genuine and some counterfeit that he used to explain what his student should be looking for. Although Carney was never told the purpose of this education – or the identity of his student, on the last day as Matt was leaving, he shook his hand and looking him in the eye said, "I take pride in the job I do here. It irks me to think of others out there trying to copy it, and if it is not stopped there will be serious consequences for the people of this nation. I don't know who you are – and I don't want to, but I wish you well and hope I have helped in some small way in the job you are about to do."

Matt thanked him and left, passing the apprentice in the outer office on his way out.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 8

In the early hours of the morning Quartermaine took him to the train depot, and the Marshal, now dressed in city clothes and carrying a briefcase containing what looked like $2000 dollars in legal currency, purchased a ticket to Richmond Va. He had the name of a hotel he was to check into and was told that Mendoza would contact him. From then on he was on his own. He hoped his portrayal of John Henry Weeks would stand the test.

-XX-

The hotel where he was staying was one of the fanciest in town. Large gaslight chandeliers illuminated the lobby in the evening and two curving stairways with decoratively carved handrails led up to the second and third floors. Thick carpets with intricate designs covered the floors, and men in uniforms festooned with gold braid where everywhere to open doors and carry bags. There was a restaurant in the hotel where tables of varying sizes were covered with crisp white tablecloths and set with elaborate dishes and silverware. The menu was extensive and mostly in French, which left the Marshal wondering what his order would bring to the table.

That evening he was tempted to go out and walk around the town itself, for so long now he had been living within the confines of walls and he had a need to feel the open spaces. Quartermaine had warned him not to do that. "You never know who you might meet," he had said, "and also the hotel is the only place where Mendoza will be able to find you."

Sleeping was difficult that first night. The bed was clean and comfortable and a soft breeze blew through the half open window, but now he had time to stop and think. It had been more than a month since he had left Dodge. He worried for his town and its inhabitants even though Devens had assured him everything was being taken care of by an experienced man. When it came down to it he knew what it was he really missed. The feeling of home whenever he walked into the Long Branch, his red headed lady and the welcoming smile she always bestowed upon him and most of all the feeling of lying next to her at night. The secret hidden joy of their relationship filled his mind until he finally fell asleep.

Quartermaine and Brooks had both told him that Weeks was a man of extravagant tastes and so when he went to eat or order at the bar or do anything around the hotel to do it with a flourish, order the most expensive food and wines and tip well. They had given him plenty of money to fulfill the role. To play the part he got up early and went to breakfast in the fancy restaurant, ordering steak and eggs and all the trimmings that went with it. He had to admit he had never tasted steak like the one he ate that morning. The coffee was excellent and bore no resemblance to Chester's brew. A faint smile crossed his lips as he thought of Chester and he couldn't help but wonder who was sitting in his office right now, probably propping up their feet on his desk.

Having finished his meal he walked out into the lobby and picked up one of the newspapers lying around. Several were in languages other than English and most of those were several weeks old and, by the looks of them, had been thumbed through many times. In a small pile by the front desk he saw one from St Louis and found a comfortable leather chair in a corner of the lobby from where he could watch the entrance way and the front desk. He had read the newspaper from cover to cover and had just about decided to go out and walk around when a short stocky man came in and went directly to speak with the clerk at the desk. The clerk looked around the lobby and pointed discreetly towards Dillon, the man handed the clerk some coins and walked towards the corner where Dillon sat.

"Mr. Weeks?" he asked. Dillon stood up.

"You must be Mendoza," he said extending his hand. "Do you wish to talk here or in my room."

"Neither, I have a carriage outside. We will talk while we drive around if you don't mind."

Dillon had no problem with that, he would appreciate seeing the outside world for a change. He did miss the feel of the colt pistol that usually hung by his right hip but with a slight squeeze of his left arm he could feel the small gun they had given him, safely lodged in its holster under his coat. He carefully folded the newspaper and put it back on the table where he found it and followed Mendoza outside to where an enclosed carriage stood. It was something a lot fancier than the farm wagons and old buggies he was used to in Dodge. This had carved wood and painted designs on the doors, and was pulled by two matched grey geldings.

Mendoza signaled him to climb in and he did so while his new acquaintance had words with the driver who sat on the outside.

The carriage pulled away from the hotel and the men looked at each other for a few minutes.

"So Mr. Weeks you are involved in a variety of businesses so I hear."

"You could say that."

"What is your purpose with me?"  
"I understand that you can provide me with a substantial quantity of paper money."

Mendoza paused and looked at his own hands for a minute or two while Dillon looked out of the carriage window.

"How much did you have in mind?"

"Shall we half a million dollars to start with, then if that is satisfactory we can go from there."

"We can give you a discount of twenty-five cents on the dollar."

"I had fifty cents in mind."

"I can't go any higher than 30 cents."

"Look," said Dillon leaning forward and looking the man directly in the face. Already he felt contempt for this stocky little individual who could cause so much havoc to a country whose very existence he had fought in a war to preserve. "I am not talking petty cash amounts here, I hope to buy a million dollars from you and I do not intend to pay a penny more than fifty cents on the dollar. Further more I want to see the goods before I put any money on the table. It's obvious that you are just a go between in this business – I need to negotiate with the top man. I have cash money back at the hotel and I am ready to deal, I have a market waiting to distribute your product all I need is the goods."

Matt hoped he was using the right words and conveying the right impression. His main concern was to get through this as quickly as possible.

Mendoza started to wave his hands to emphasize his words. "Nobody meets the Boss," he said. "You have to go through me."  
Dillon grabbed the man's right wrist and bent it back.

"You go tell your Boss I only deal with him. I have twenty thousand dollars in the hotel safe for starters and there is plenty more where that came from. I am ready to buy. Now take me back, I'm done talking to you."

Mendoza tapped on the roof of the carriage and Matt felt it change direction. In ten minutes they were back outside the hotel. He turned and gave a final glance at the stocky little man, then climbed down and went inside through the big double doors with leaded glass windows.

Matt heard nothing from Mendoza for two days, then at breakfast time the following morning the man walked into the restaurant looking for him.

Matt encouraged the man to join him and refused to hurry over his food. He wanted to jump up and get this deal over but something told him that John Henry Weeks would not do that.  
Mendoza told Him they were going to his boss's home in the country. He had a buggy outside and it would be easier if Weeks brought all his things – including the money, and move out there for a few days to conclude the deal.

At last things were moving, hopefully in a few more days this would be finished and he could go home. He went up to his room, packed the few things he had there into a soft leather valise that Quartermaine had given him and checked the small gun he carried putting some spare bullets in his pocket. Mendoza was waiting at the hotel desk and the clerk already had his bill made out. The amount of money that Dillon handed over was equivalent to about six months of his usual salary as a US Marshal. He collected the brief case from the hotel safe and followed the drummer out to a waiting buggy.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 9

They spoke very little on the hour's drive out to the mansion where the Boss evidently lived. Dillon noticed that as they entered the gates, several guards watched their progress. They seemed to know Mendoza and gave him very little argument when he said he was going to the house, and that this man – he indicated Dillon – had an appointment with the big man himself.

The estate around the house was as big as some ranches he had seen out west. There were no cattle here though, just neatly trimmed lawns and shrubs and several large trees. The gravel path wound through several areas of the grounds before they stopped in front of what looked like a palace. Several men came down the steps from the house to open the carriage doors and Dillon noticed that even though they acted in a polite and welcoming manner, they all carried guns. Mendoza could see that his companion had noticed that.

"The Boss has to be careful you know. Too many people want to put a stop to his business."

They were directed into the house through two big wooden doors and when Dillon stepped inside he could see that this place was equally as grand as the hotel he had just left. One of the guards acting as house staff took his bag, telling him he would take it to his room for him, Dillon would not part with the small case with the money though. He was shown into a comfortable living room where three other men were engaged in a conversation.

The tallest of them, a man with grey thinning hair broke away from the group and came to greet him.

"My dear Mr. Weeks, it is a pleasure to have you in my house. Josiah Colter at your service. Please let me pour you a drink, these gentlemen are just leaving." So saying he went to a highly decorated liquor cabinet and poured a double shot of whisky into glass and brought it to him.

He had a few more words with the remaining two men then ushered them to the door, which he closed firmly. When he turned back to Dillon his manner changed from the fine host to the hard nosed business man.

"Mr. Weeks, it is good of you to come here to Virginia – all the way from Missouri."  
"Colorado," corrected Dillon

"Oh yes, my mistake. Of course we did have to check up a little on your activities. It seems you have a stake in several different lines of business, from, railroads to dealing in cattle and some –well some sensitive people might call unethical trading of er servants and house staff, shall we say, and some for the er entertainment business," he almost chuckled at his own words.

Dillon said nothing. He hated to be even thought to associate with any such miserable parasites on society.

"It seems you have done your homework," was all he replied while he took only slow deliberate sips from the whisky he had been given.

"Mendoza tells me you want to purchase a rather large quantity of our goods."

"If the price is right and the quality is good."

"Do you have any payment with you?'  
Dillon picked up the small leather brief case and took a small key from his vest pocket to unlock the catch. He lifted the lid to show stacks of twenty dollar bills, flicking through the top layers of some of them.

"There is about twenty thousand dollars in here and I have letters of credit on four other banks in town where I can raise another two hundred thousand or so, if the goods are available."

He closed the lid before Colter could start to inspect the money more closely. In fact although two of the stacks were genuine all the way through, the others just had genuine bills on top, those underneath were hastily produced fakes.

"Certainly, certainly. Tell me how did you hear of me."

"Just a coincidence Mr. Colter," he went on to tell the story Quartermaine had given him in one of their training sessions. He sat back in the arm chair and waved his hands as he spoke, hoping to imitate what they had told him about Weeks.

"I receive a stack of bills from my bank in Denver, about once a month. I always get enough to satisfy the payroll at my ranch back there, you understand. I noticed that two of the bills were not quite right, very good but not quite right. I had one of my men investigate further and that lead me to Mr. Mendoza. But I don't deal with men like him. I always go straight to the top."

They shared a forced laugh.

"Very wise Mr. Weeks. We won't talk business now I have some other things to take care of. I will have you shown to your room then please feel free to stroll in the gardens or take a rest after your journey here. We will eat dinner at six and after that we will talk again."

Colter picked up a small bell and rang it. A man appeared at the door Matt couldn't tell if he was a bodyguard or house staff, but presumed the former.

"Show Mr. Weeks to his room," Colter ordered, then got up from the chair he was sitting in. "We will meet again later."

Dillon sat in his room for a while. So far it had been relatively easy. He had found 'the boss' and hopefully should be able to find the printing press and plates. Then all he had to do was to wire Quartermaine and his job was done. Finding the printing press and plates should not be difficult. The main problem was getting word to Quartermaine. Right now he knew he had travelled about 15 miles east of the hotel in Richmond, but had no other way to tell the agent where this place was. Furthermore he knew that if Colter did not want him to leave there was no way he was going to get a message out.

He looked over at the bed. His few spare clothes had all been laid out there for him, and somehow he knew they had been searched. Quartermaine certainly knew what this business was about.

The two other men he had seen earlier were present at dinner, as was a young girl that Colter introduced as his niece. Her name was Jennifer and she looked to be about fourteen. Her hair was dark and hung down over her shoulders in cascading curls. She was quiet and Dillon could not understand why Colter insisted that she come eat with all these men, one of them in particular eyed the young girl in a such a way that Dillon could have punched him out right there. The girl was certainly uncomfortable, especially when Colter sat her next to the man in question. He couldn't help but watch the young girl – ready to step in if anything was done to hurt her.

Later that evening Matt sat talking with Colter and the other two men – introduced as Smith and Brown. Apparently these two gentlemen wanted some of the currency Colter was printing. They seemed quite willing to pay seventy five cents on the dollar, but the quantity they were buying was much less. Dillon pointed this out and added that he did not have time to wait around for his order.

The men sat around drinking whisky and smoking fine cigars for several hours. Matt managed to sip on a glass and make it last a long time and he declined the cigars.

After what seemed an age Colter encouraged the two other men to leave telling them their order would be ready in two days and to come back then.

After they had left Colter spoke to Dillon.

"I don't have enough paper to print the amount of currency you want. I can get a delivery in about a week and you are welcome to stay here for while you wait. I can assure you will be well taken care of. Maybe you'd like to do a little fishing or follow some other pursuit. I will arrange a little, shall we say entertainment for you, to make your stay more pleasurable."

The way Colter said that made Dillon want to back hand him into the next room, he knew what the man was insinuating, he had read about some of Weeks's pastimes and they made him sick to think about.

"I don't have a lot of time to waste Colter, but I'll stay a while." He was hoping the extra time would give him the opportunity to find the printing press and the plates.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 10

It was two days since his arrival here at Colter's mansion and he was sitting in a chair by the window in the bedroom he had been given. The view out over the vast amount of land belonging to Colter's estate was certainly impressive. The extensive green lawns and the big oak trees were something he would never see in the region of Kansas around Dodge City. Right now none of them were visible as it was too late in the evening. Dinner was over and he had come to his room to think. He knew that in Dodge City the saloons would be serving liquor to thirsty cowboys and the music and lamplight would be pouring out onto Front Street. He smiled as he thought of the Long Branch. If he closed his eyes he could see Kitty winding her way through the rough clientele, keeping an eye on the girls who worked for her and watching out for any potential troublemakers. He hoped Sam was there keeping an eye on things, and wondered who they would send for if it started to get out of hand. In his mind he could see her eyes searching for him, telling him to come back later after the craziness of the evening was over. He began to relax, his thoughts taking him back to that place of comfort. He was suddenly brought back to reality by a gentle knocking at the door. He went over to open it and saw Jennifer Colter standing there. She immediately came into the room. Matt did not close the door but followed her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked

"My Uncle sent me," she said looking down at the floor.

"What for?" Matt asked, still not comprehending.

"To.. to entertain you." She stepped back and closed the door, then removed the wrap from around her shoulders. Matt saw she was wearing a dress that was cut lower than any Kitty had ever worn. She began to undo the buttons down the front.

"Whoa," he exclaimed in astonishment, "what are you doing?"

"Like I said my uncle wants me to entertain you while you are here."  
"Jennifer, this is not right, you are just a young girl. I don't want that kind of entertainment."

She looked at him almost crying. "If I don't please you my uncle will beat me."

He led her over to the other chair by the table.

"Suppose you tell me what's going on here." He went to pick up her wrap from the floor and gently placed it back around her shoulders.

For a while she sat there without speaking. He waited.

"You won't tell him will you?"

"I won't if you won't."  
She nodded and dabbed her eyes.

"Why would your uncle do this to you?"  
"He's not really my uncle."  
"What about your parents?"  
"I never knew my father, Mama would never talk about him."

"Tell me about your mother."

"She was a beautiful talented lady. She worked with a company of actors. They travelled the theatres of Europe performing Shakespeare plays. I was with her all the time. We went to so many beautiful places, the big theatres and opera houses." Her eyes grew teary as she thought back to those happy times. "We stayed in beautiful hotels; we even stayed in a real palace one time. Sometimes we would travel by boat along famous rivers, and my mother and the rest of the company would perform at all of the towns along the way. My favorite city was Vienna, have you ever been there?"

"No Jennifer, sadly I have never travelled that far. What happened to your mother?"

We were in Paris, she was performing there." She looked away, drying her eyes again. "There was a fire and she and several of the others did not get out."

"I'm sorry." he paused a moment and looked at her sad face. "Tell me about Colter."  
"He was always there sitting in the front row. He followed my mother everywhere. I always thought he was my friend too. He was good to me in those days." A wistful look came over her.

"He told me to tell people that he was my uncle, that way they would leave me with him and he would look after me, otherwise they would send me to an orphanage. For a while we continued traveling around Europe but the money ran out. He said we would go to America, he could make money there and we would live comfortably again. It was a horrible journey, we didn't have much money so we had to travel on the lower decks of the ship. I thought I would die before we got here."

"So when was that?" he asked prompting her to continue.

"About 3 years ago – I was about 11 years old at the time."

"Did he always ask you to 'entertain' his clients?"  
"No that started a year or so ago. He brought a really fancy dress to my room one evening and told me I had a job to do. We needed some money to go to San Francisco, I think I have an aunt there. He said if I helped him we would track her down and I would have family again." She began to cry now. "He told me to go to this old man's room and entertain him, to do whatever he asked me. She burst into tears – I had no idea…"

He reached and touched her hands, "Has it happened many times?"

She nodded.

Matt shook his head. Somehow he had to get her out of this. It would not be easy but he had to do it.

"I will try to see it doesn't happen again, Jennifer."

She looked up at him with hope in her eyes.

"You are different to the other men that come here. Like that man tonight at the dinner table, he always wants me. Uncle says I help him make good business deals and soon we will have enough money. That it is my duty to help him." Matt felt physically sick at the thought of what the man was doing to this girl.

"Tell me, if you had the chance to leave here would you take it?'

"But I have no where to go."

"Maybe we could find that aunt in San Francisco."

Matt was thinking that maybe he could get a wire to Quartermaine, get him to take her out of here when they arrested Colter. First he just had to get those plates. He didn't want to use the girl, but she just might know something.

"Does your Uncle have a place where he goes to work, maybe a printing shop or a storage place?"

She thought for a while.

"There is a younger man who comes to visit about once a month. He always brings a big box, and he and my uncle take the wagon and move the box to a place not too far from here. I know it is important to his business because he always wants me to entertain the man – and he is a bad man Mr. Weeks, he always wants me to do bad things that hurt. I have asked my uncle not to make me go to him, but he says it is important.

"Tell me about that man."

"His name is William, he is young compared with all the other men that come here, but he is evil."

"Do you know when he will be here again."

"Probably later this week."

Matt took a breath and paced the room. There had to be a way out of here. Although he was not a prisoner, he might as well be. He did not know exactly where he was and he had no horse and these city boots would not be good for walking very far.

"Does Colter ever let you go into town?"

"Not often, but sometimes with one of the men."

Dillon knew he had to find those plates it was their only chance.

"Jennifer, I am going to ask you to trust me, I need to work with your uncle for a few days, but I plan to get you out of here when I leave."

He slept in the chair that night, leaving the bed for the young girl. Next morning at breakfast he started working on Colter.

"How do I know I am not wasting my time here, maybe you can't produce all the currency I need?"

"I told you I am waiting on a shipment of paper, it should arrive any day now."  
"I think I need to see the quality of the stuff you are making, if it's no better than that I found in Denver, it's not even worth fifty cents on the dollar."

He continued to work on Colter for the next two days, finally the man gave in and said he would show him the press and prove he was making greenbacks that even the treasury couldn't find fault with. They both laughed at that, although anyone who knew Dillon would realize that he wasn't really laughing.

It turned out that the printing press was located quite near the house. Dillon estimated that they had driven for less than five miles in the buggy when Colter pulled up in front of an old stone house. The marshal remembered what Carney – the printer in Washington– had told him about how the inks needed to be kept cool, and how a small speck of dust or dirt on the plates could ruin a whole run. This was how Colter had solved the problem.

He had been riding up front of the buggy, but on the back seat sat one of the numerous house staff or guards. Colter signaled to the man to get down and tend to the horse while he and Dillon went inside, but the Marshal knew it was not the horse the man was meant to be keeping an eye on, it was him. Any false move on his part would lead to a bullet in the back, he had no delusions on that score.

There were just two rooms in the old house and the press was located in what had once been a bedroom. Thankfully it was similar to the one he had seen in Washington. The press was being prepared for a run, the man that operated it looked to Colter – "this is the last of the paper. After this I can't do any more till the next shipment comes."

"It should be here tomorrow or the next day so just go ahead with what you have."

He signaled the man to continue and Dillon watched as the printer resumed his work. He used as much care and precision as the man in Washington had. The press turned and the gears clanked as the paper was fed in. In every detail it was like the one he had seen in the basement of the treasury.

When the first run came off the press the Marshal studied it in detail. He did not touch it yet because the ink was still wet, but he produced a small magnifying glass that Carney had given him and studied the detail on the bills. Colter was right, these notes were good, barely distinguishable from the real thing, even down to the red seal incorporated into the design.

"You see Mr. weeks this is quality work, that is why I can't discount it as much as you want."

"The serial numbers aren't correct, otherwise I'll admit it is good work."

Dillon gave the impression of someone knowledgeable about the printing of bank notes. He even spoke with the print operator – although was never introduced to him by name.

"We will discuss it later," Colter added as they left the building.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Counterfeit**

Chapter11

The Marshall watched carefully as they drove back to the house, he wanted to be able to find this place in the dark. He had a plan and in order for it to work he would have to carry it out that night. Time was short. He was aware that Colter had been keeping a watch on his movements, sometimes even to the extent of posting a man in the hallway so he could not leave the house without his host knowing about it. He had left and walked around outside some evenings – just to see what happened. He noticed that it wasn't long before Colter came out and joined him. Tonight had to be different.

There was an hour or so before dinner – there would only the three of them tonight, Colter, Jennifer and himself- so he left by the back door of the house and started walking around the gardens. It wasn't long before the young girl joined him. Matt casually looked around to make sure Colter wasn't in earshot.

"Jennifer I need your help tonight."

She looked at him quizzically.

"I am going to make an excuse not to sit around drinking with your uncle after dinner. I am going up to my room, then, in about half an hour, I will need a diversion out the front of the house. Maybe some screaming or any kind of commotion that will get everyone there."

"What are you going to do? Are you planning to leave tonight?"

"No. Maybe tomorrow."

"Please take me with you – William will be here and my uncle will make me entertain him. I can't spend another night with him Mr. Weeks he always hurts me. I promise I won't get in the way. Maybe I can even help. But please don't leave me behind, you are my only chance."

What could he say, he couldn't leave her to suffer at the hands of whoever William was. On the other hand what he was about to do could be dangerous, should he expose her to that? He decided.

"I'll take you, pack a small bag and be ready to leave at a moments notice."

-XX-

It was already dark by the time dinner was over. As usual Colter wanted to sit around and take a few glasses of whisky. Dillon sat for a while, then told him he had been away from home a long time and he needed to go write a letter to send to his family back in Colorado. Colter seemed to accept that.

Once in his room, Dillon pulled the jackknife he had managed to keep from Quartermaine, from the bottom of the locked brief case. He slid it into one of the pockets of his coat. He dropped the small gun in another pocket and then opened a small compartment from within the case and took out two flat pieces of metal each engraved with an image resembling the front and back of a fifty-dollar bill. He waited. Before long there was incessant screaming from the front of the house and shortly footsteps of men running in that direction. He grabbed the opportunity to move swiftly to the back of the house and leave through the back door. He had thought of going to the stable and borrowing a horse, but decided that might be noticed. Instead he set off on foot towards the small stone house.

The night was not too dark as the moon was at about half phase. He found the trail that the buggy had taken quite easily and followed it – staying to the side of the road so that he could hide in the bushes at the sound of any approaching horses. He was able to move quickly and in little over an hour came to the small building he was looking for. He listened and heard nothing. Surely there was a guard somewhere – but he could not see one out front of the house so quietly made his way to the back. Then he saw him, a young man with a colt pistol in his lap sitting half asleep by the back door.

Dillon thought for a moment. He couldn't risk the man waking up and finding him at work inside the house. Maybe he could get up close enough without waking him that he could hit him over the head just enough to keep him out for an hour while he did his work. With a little luck the man might think he fell off the chair and hit his own head and be too scared to report the incident.

He cautiously eased his way along the back wall of the building towards the sleeping guard. The man didn't move a muscle. Carefully he pulled the small gun he had been given from his pocket and raised it, one more step and he brought it down with a moderate amount of force on the back of the guard's head. Before the man could fall he caught him around the shoulders and gently lowered him to the ground. Carefully stepping over him he saw the reason for the man's sleep – an empty bottle of whisky lay by the door. Even more luck, the door was not locked. He went on in and lit one of the oil lamps on the table. Then he picked it up and made his way to the room where the printing press was located.

As he had seen earlier the press was very similar to the one at the treasury. He took the jack knife from his pocket and opening the press located the carefully engraved plates and set about removing them. Using his knife he managed to pry them out, but it was taking longer than he had hoped. Finally he had removed both and it was an easy task to drop the ones he had brought into place. Hopefully they wouldn't notice the difference until they began to make the next run, that was Quartermaine's plan anyway – he thought it would give the Marshal time to get away. But Matt wanted to find out who this William was, counterfeiters were bad enough, but a man who would abuse a young girl like Jennifer made him really angry. The whole task took him longer than expected and he still had to make it back to the house. He picked up the lamp and set it back on the table where he found it, carefully extinguishing its flame before exiting through the door. Fortunately the guard was still asleep.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 12

He made good time getting back to Colter's house, which was just as well since it would soon start to get light. The trees and bushes here in the east were much thicker and taller than anything they had around Dodge. It worked to his advantage because it gave him excellent cover from which he could observe the guard stationed at the back of the house. The man was just standing there leaning against one of the columns that supported the back porch. Dillon waited in silence, hoping the man would move on or something would distract him, half an hour went by and he was beginning to feel the chill in the air that comes just before dawn. He had to make a move soon. Another five and then ten minutes had passed. Nothing for it but to make his own distraction. He just hoped that no one had locked the back door. He had got up early the previous morning on the pretense of not being able to sleep and found it to be unlocked with the same guard standing outside.

He felt around on the ground at his feet until he found a medium sized piece of rock. Using his right arm he threw it into a dense patch of undergrowth off to the left side of the house. The guard heard it but at first did nothing, just stood there alert waiting to see if the noise was repeated. Matt had just about given up hope when another of Colter's men who had been watching the front of the house came around the side and called to him.

"Hey Cade, did you see anything?"

The man known as Cade left his post and walked over towards the other man – it looked like they were holding a conversation, Matt took his chance and moving almost without sound made it to the back door. The men were still talking as he tried the handle. He could feel his heart beating faster and faster as at first it did not move, a little more force, then a little more and at last it gave in to the pressure and he went on in. For once he was grateful not to be wearing spurs as he made his way along to his room. He had locked it when he left and as far as he could tell no one had been in there.

It had been necessary to change into spare clothes that Quartermaine had given him, he didn't want to come down to breakfast looking like he had spent the night walking through the woods, neither did he want the house staff to find the clothes he had been wearing and wonder what had been going on. He decided to ball them up and push them in the bottom of the small leather bag he had arrived with, and that he pushed under the bed.

Breakfast was on the table when he arrived at the dining room where Colter and his "niece" were already seated. He overheard their conversation before he sat down and joined them. Something about Mr. Taylor would be here sometime today and to be sure to make herself available. He wondered if that was the 'William" she had spoken about. He had to get her out of here. He saw her glance up at him and then look down at her plate before Colter could see the pleading look in her eyes.

Dillon wanted to distract the conversation.

"Mr. Colter I have been here almost a week now and am somewhat impatient to get on with our business – I do need to start my journey home soon."  
"The paper should arrive today, then printing will take about 3 days to finish, so it should not be too much longer."

Dillon was hungry after his night time activities and was enjoying the variety of meats and breads provided by his unsuspecting host.

A carriage drew up outside, and Colter was on his feet, "this should be my supply of paper and inks arriving now."

Dillon looked towards the window and saw a man descending from the carriage, he caught his breath when he realized he had seen him just recently in the basement of the treasury. William Taylor the apprentice was Josiah's supplier of paper and inks. No wonder the quality of his forgeries was so good – he was using the official materials to print them on. Now there was a more immediate problem –Dillon's unusual height gave him a big advantage as a lawman – but at the same time people easily recognized him. Now he had to think quickly. Fortunately that was something that also came easily to him.

A glance at the window showed that Colter's men were busy unloading the coach. It looked like the driver and passenger were coming into the house – maybe they would be here a while.

"We're leaving now, he told Jennifer, grab your things and be out front in five minutes. He hurried back to his room, grabbed the small case with the money and counterfeit plates inside, then walked as calmly as possible towards the front door. Jennifer was already standing on the front stoop, small bag in hand. Everyone else had gone into the dining room. They were standing there talking and drinking coffee. The apprentice known as William Taylor glanced around and saw him – a shadow of recognition crossed his face, he pointed and yelled to Mr. Colter.

Dillon didn't wait to see what would happen next, he charged out the front door, fortunately the girl had had the sense to quietly board the coach, and the door was closing as Matt leapt up onto the box and grabbed the lines to the team. He yelled and flicked the leathers to urge the horse into a fast start and headed straight for the main gate about a hundred yards away.

He heard gunfire behind him, and yelled to his passenger to get on the floor then saw the guards from the gate looking at him, they had obviously heard the gunfire.

He yelled to them, "Trouble at the house, Mr. Colter needs you!"

Their second or two's hesitation was all he needed. He was through the gates and out on the main trail. He knew they would have a few minutes before Colter's men could get saddled up and give chase.

He was watching the woods on either side. He knew the James River was around here somewhere but had no map. Somehow they had to get out of the area, by river or train it didn't matter – he needed to get himself and Jennifer away from here. At last he saw what he wanted, a very small path leading back into the woods with lots of cover on each side.

He pulled up on the lines and used the break to bring the horses to a stop, then he jumped down and opened the carriage door.

"Get out and go back down that path a way and hide, I will be back for you in a few minutes." He handed her the small brief case, which was all he had brought with him.

The young girl seemed smarter than he could have hoped and didn't need telling twice. He slammed the door and climbed back onto the box, urging the horses into a gallop. When he had them going well he let go of the lines. Seeing what looked like a soft patch of ground to his left he prepared to jump. He knew he had to be careful, a broken leg would be a real handicap at this point, but the few years of trail drives and bronco riding from his youth had taught him how to fall. He left the stage and curled into a ball trying to protect his head and keep his limbs tucked in. He hit the ground hard – it knocked the breath out of him for a minute but, when he recovered from that, he as pleased to find that he could stand without difficulty and felt only a few bruises and minor cuts as injuries. He stood and watched with satisfaction as the coach kept on going.

He doubted they had much time to get away. If the horses kept going, Colter's men would chase them – but once they stopped they would back track to find them.

He found the place where he had left his young companion and looked around. Something fell out of a tree in front of him. Not the girl he was looking for but a young boy in ragged baggy pants and a patched shirt that was several sizes too big. It was only the long dark hair that enabled him to recognize her. An old felt hat had fallen at his feet and he bent down to retrieve it and hand to her.

She laughed at his surprised look.

"Girls clothes aren't much good for someone on the run." She pushed the hat on her head and stuffed the curls beneath it. He couldn't help but smile.

"How did you..?"  
"I've been planning to escape for a while and I have kind of stolen these clothes from when the house staff hung out laundry. I had them all ready. They will be looking for a neat well dressed young girl not a shabby street urchin. She had even rubbed some dirt over her face to complete the picture.

"Where did you leave your other clothes?"

"Up in that tree. Mr. Colter thought it strange that I would climb trees on the estate, but I had to keep in practice. She reached under a nearby clump of bushes and handed him the small case. He opened it, removed as much of the money as was real and shoved it in his pockets along with the stolen plates.

They heard the horses approaching before they saw them. Dillon tugged her back into the bushes before the men went by. They were following the stage.

"We need to get out of here," he said, leading the way further into the undergrowth. "Right now we need to get as far away as we can, then maybe look for a stage line or railroad.

For hours they made their way through the trees and tried to stay away from cart tracks and the few wooden buildings they saw. Matt realized they had no food or water, but fortunately it was not to hot and there were plenty of streams – small enough to step over, and they had both eaten well at breakfast. He tried to keep them moving west, using the sun as a guide, but was not sure exactly where they would finish up. Once or twice early in the day they had heard men and horses coming through the woods but were able to hide out before they were found. Matt knew from experience that if you were trailing someone, a large posse was less likely to find the person you were looking for than one or two people alone. All the noise and horses erasing their tracks probably saved them.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 13

Josiah Colter was angrier than he could ever remember being. He had no idea what had just happened until young William Taylor explained that he had seen the man Colter knew as Mr. Weeks, in the Treasury Print Shop in Washington. He knew that Milton Carney had been teaching Weeks all about the process of printing currency and how to identify counterfeit bills.

He was certain he was not mistaken, he thought the man had been brought in to work with the secret service. Taylor was doing his best to curry favor with Colter – after all he hoped to marry that pretty little niece of his.

Thinking of that, he asked where she was. Colter sent one of the house staff to her room to bring her down. He knew she did not like Taylor, and thought she was hiding somewhere. He needed the surly young man to supply him with the paper and inks to run his printing business and the young man wanted Jennifer. He felt a little guilty about it, especially after the bruises he had seen on her neck after Taylor's last visit. Indeed Jennifer had pleaded with him not to make her entertain William again – but business was business and this one was too profitable to abandon. It had taken him a long time to get the system working and find someone who could get the supplies he needed. Now he just looked at it as part of the cost of his operation.

His men had returned and somewhat reluctantly explained that they could not find Weeks. They had finally caught up with the coach, but he was nowhere to be found. They had searched the surrounding woods to no avail.

He needed to know who the man was. He doubted, now, that his real name was John Henry Weeks. He arranged to have telegrams sent to several of his regular byers, offering a substantial reward to anyone who could give him information on the tall man who had been here at his house. He sent a man to check on the printing press and was later told that everything at the little stone house was fine. No evidence of anyone having been there – after all there had been a guard there all night.

Much to Taylors annoyance young Jennifer could not be found – it did not strike Colter till several hours later that somehow she had left with Weeks – or whoever he was. Now it was imperative that the pair be found.

That afternoon he sent the new supply of inks and paper down to the press and told them to start printing – he knew he had a ready market even without Weeks. All went well until one of his men brought a sheet of freshly printed $50.00 bills to him. They were nothing like the real thing and would not fool a town drunk on a dark night.

Then an even worse thought struck him. If that man was from the secret service, he knew far too much. It could lead to him being arrested and tried for a multitude of crimes – and if Weeks had those plates as proof there was no end to the disasters that could follow. The man he knew as Weeks had certainly been a lot smarter than the other agents who had tried to track him down. He had to be found and fast.

Taylor was probably in the best position to help him. He did not like the young man with the surly attitude, but he knew he could hold out the ultimate bribe for him. Jennifer would be his bride if he found the information he needed.

Taylor returned to Washington determined to find the identity of the tall man he had seen in the printing shop. After all he had managed to find out about the other two agents. Mr. Colter sure owed him more than the occasional meeting he had so far been getting with the girl. This time she would be his for keeps.

-XX-

They had stopped to take a short break, sitting with their backs against a tall shade tree. Dillon thought it was reasonably safe. It was now late in the day and they hadn't heard Colter's men since before noon. They had left the wooded area behind them and were in more open terrain now. Matt needed to find a stagecoach line or a railroad or something that could get them away from the immediate area.

"Tell me Jennifer, how did you learn to act like a boy just like that."

"I told you my mother was an actress with a theatrical company that travelled around the big theatres and opera houses of Europe. They performed many of Shakespeare's plays – and in several of those the heroine dresses as a boy to disguise herself – maybe to check on a lover or something. My mother was good at that. Often we would want to go explore a new city when we travelled, and for a mother and daughter that would be dangerous – but for father and son nobody took any notice. She taught me how to think the part, not just act it."

He looked at her. "You are an amazing girl Jennifer."

She met his gaze straight on. "My real name is not Jennifer – any more than yours is Weeks." She laughed at his astonishment.

"It's really is pretty easy to tell, besides which you are not like the other men that my uncle has come to the house."

"So what is your name?" He was intrigued by this young girl who had such an adult grasp on life.

"Genevieve Gitano. It sounded too conspicuous to Mr. Colter so he called me Jennifer, he said it would attract less attention, and he told me to take his last name. Now tell me your name."

He smiled "It might be better if you don't know."

"Well you can't be Mr. Weeks – that is who they will be looking for."

"My name is Matthew, will that do."

"Well then I will be Jimmie Mathews, and you will be my father."

He laughed, "If that's all right with you, it's fine for me. Now we need to get moving."

It was almost dark when they came across a small village, mostly a farming community. Little more than a trading post where people would bring farm produce and buy such things as fabric, sugar and tools they could not make.

Dillon had decided he would go down and investigate, they needed food and a place to stay and if possible a way out of the area.

"Let me go, nobody will look twice at some scruffy boy who comes wandering into town, you'll stand out too much. Don't forget my uncle's men will be looking for a tall man and a young girl, not Jimmie Matthews."

He hated to do it, but it made perfect sense. He gave her some money and told her to come right back if there was any trouble – or just to scream and yell and he would find her.

She was gone for about an hour and he was just getting worried when he saw her coming back up the hill he was sitting on. She had got a canteen of water, some bread and beef jerky. Not a great meal but better than nothing. She had also found out that a tinker's wagon would be passing through tomorrow and maybe they could catch a ride.

The night was not too cold – they could have done with a blanket, but Matt cut some small leafy limbs from nearby bushes and used them to keep the chill out.

Dillon would have enjoyed some hot coffee for breakfast, but made do with the last of the bread and some water from the canteen. They had barely finished when they heard a banging and rattling of pots and pans and saw an old dilapidated wagon headed their way. They followed it into town and watched the driver as he sold some of his wares to the man at the trading post – then he sharpened a few knives for people from the village. As he was about to leave Dillon approached him, trying to find where he was headed. The man was going to Petersburg and would indeed take them along – but he wanted ten dollars each from them. They didn't have a lot of choice and climbed aboard. He said they should be there by evening.

-XX-

Petersburg turned out to be a good destination, several railroads passed through there and they mostly headed west.

Jimmy went to purchase the tickets while Dillon watched. At one time he thought he saw one of Colter's men, and almost went after him – but that would have left a trail, so he did his best to stay out of sight.

It was two hours before the train was due so Matt went to buy some supplies. The train would take two or three days to get to St Louis and they would need to eat. Matt felt that at least they had a chance of making it back to Dodge now.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 14

The train stopped at several local stations before it finally picked up a little speed and started heading across open country. For a while they both looked out of the window, then Dillon noticed that the girl was sleeping. He wanted to rest but decided it would be safer to stay awake and watch. He knew the trip was going to take several days, but thought that the further they got from Richmond the safer they would be. He should have known better.

All went well until a small stop just east of St. Louis. Several men boarded at some obscure stop, and Matt was sure he recognized at least three of them from Colter's house and hoped they hadn't seen him. He watched as they went to the back of the train and started working their way forward. He took some money from his pocket and pushed it into 'Jimmie Mathews' hand, speaking quietly to her

"If anything happens, just stay out of those men's way, they will not recognize you like you are now. Somehow make your way to Dodge City Kansas. Look for Dr. Adams, he has an office on Front Street, look for his name, Dr. G Adams. Remember that. Now go sit next to someone else and turn your face to the window, don't look back here."

For a second or two she sat there looking at him, then, amazingly she did as he asked. Now he just had to look after himself and that he was used to doing.

He put his hand around the small gun in his pocket and moved along the carriage until he was standing on the metal plate between the first and second cars. The train continued to roll, the men were moving slowly through the second carriage carefully looking at the passengers there. The closer the train got to St. Louis the better, let them take their time. The first man stepped out of the second car and on to the metal plate of the first one where the lawman was standing. He saw Dillon immediately and went to open his mouth and to call the man behind him but Dillon's fist moved faster, there was a short scuffle and just as the second man arrived the first was falling over the side of the car and onto the ground. Dillon did not have time to watch him as he was dealing with the second man, the third man came running and Colter's men between them had the big man cornered. He silently cursed the small gun that seemed to be hung up in his pocket. With all three of them on the plate between the first two cars, there was little room for movement. He managed to land a few punches but there was not enough room to get a good swing and there were two of them trying to take him down. All he could do was throw himself off the train, it was moving slower now and would not be a bad fall, one of the men drew his gun and fired just as he jumped. Matt felt it burn a pathway into his right leg, and what had been a controlled jump from the train became an agonizing roll down an embankment.

He lay at the bottom of the hill trying to catch his breath, blood was spurting from his leg and there was little he could do to stop it.

The two remaining men looked around for Mr. Colter's niece but found no trace of her. They certainly did not notice the scruffy kid sitting next to a woman with a baby on her lap. Neither did they notice when that same kid left the train with a different family. They stayed in the first car until it pulled into St. Louis, then one of them went to the telegraph office.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 15

The boy, Jimmie Mathews, held her ground. Just like her mother had told her when they used to explore cities in Europe, "People only notice you if you notice them first." She tried to relax, just play the part. There was a woman with a baby on her lap sitting next to her and she started smiling and playing with the infant. She even tried talking to the woman who didn't reply – but that didn't matter. In the back of her mind she heard the scuffle and the gun shot and watched through the window as a familiar shape fell from the car and rolled down the hill that ran beside the track. The train was slowing and she got up and joined another family that was preparing to leave the train at a small crossroads. She knew they would not even look at her, dressed as she was. It was all she could do not to run and hide as soon as her foot left the train steps, but she walked with the family just in case anyone was watching. She could almost hear her mothers voice, "think like a boy, hands in your pockets, shuffle a little, kick a rock."

It must have worked because when she looked back the train was pulling away and no one else was leaving it.

-XX-

It was almost dark by the time she found him. Somehow he had managed to cut a strip of fabric from his shirt and tie it round his leg to stop the bleeding. Even so there was a lot of the red sticky substance on the ground.

"C'mon, you can't stay here we have to get you to a Doctor."

"No, they'll be checking."

"What then? You can't travel far like this."

Dillon was having trouble trying to think. He wanted to protect the girl. If she was seen with him it would lead Colter to find her.

"Help me find a place to hide out, then make your way to Dodge like I told you."

The girl said nothing, she had no intention of leaving him.

"Come on then, let's get moving."

She helped him up and they made their way in the direction of St. Louis following the railroad track.

They had not quite reached the outskirts of the city when they came to a small grouping of buildings, probably warehouses, at one end of a small village. It was the crossroads where she had left the train. The railroad line branched and part of it wound its way between the buildings so that goods could be dropped off here then stored until needed. Eventually they would be loaded onto other trains or wagons and moved to their final destination.

Dillon hated being dependent on this young girl who herself had experienced more bad things in her short life than most fully grown adults. Somehow she coped, figured out how to survive and kept going. The problem now was how far could he keep going? It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on anything but the pain in his leg. He tried to hide it but the young 'boy' he was leaning on was too perceptive.

There was a pile of leftover railway sleepers lying by the track.

"You rest here a minute and I'll go look for a good hiding place."

Matt was grateful to rest. Walking was becoming increasingly painful and he could feel the warm stickiness of blood working its way down his leg.

Jimmie went off to inspect the various buildings and find a good place to shelter. The fourth one she came to seemed the best bet. It was dark and a bit damp like it had not been used in a while. As her eyes got used to the lack of light, she saw an old mattress lying on the floor – maybe a night watchman had been here at some time. There was a stairway going up along one wall and at the top what had once been an office, still harboring an ancient table and chair. It certainly wasn't The Grand Hotel in Vienna – but it would at least provide shelter until help arrived.

-XX-

"Thanks Jennifer," Matt grunted as she helped him settle back on the mattress she had dragged over to the dark corner beneath the stairway.  
"You better get used to calling me Ginny, she said. My mother used to call me that – and when I was dressed as a boy it sounded like Jimmie – so it worked both ways."

He half smiled then groaned as he moved his leg.

"Thanks Ginny."

"I thought we could rest here till daylight."

"You need to go get a train out of here tomorrow. Colter's men will be here soon."

He reached down and gripped his leg, grimacing as he did so.

"And then who's going to see that you get out of here?"  
"I'll get some help once you are clear."

She said nothing because that certainly wasn't what she had in mind.

Matt spent a restless night. He just couldn't think of a way out of this mess. Colter's men would find out that he was still alive and come looking for him – he didn't even have a gun worth anything to defend himself with. They could hardly go board a train with him with blood all down his leg – even supposing they could make it to the depot. He could feel a fever beginning to lap around the edges of his mind and smiled to himself thinking that he could really do with some help from Doc right now.

"Jimmie" woke with a start. Mathews – as she now thought of him – was mumbling and talking, but he wasn't awake and he seemed hotter than he should be. He definitely needed more help than she could give.

She decided to go look around the small village and see what she could find. Stuffing her hair up under the felt hat she had been wearing, she set out, surprised to find that it was not even fully daylight yet.

She remembered what he had said about Colter's men coming to find him, and looked carefully around corners as she went. She left the rail-yard and followed the dirt road into the small town that was on the outskirts of St. Louis. She found a general store and told the man who was just pulling up the window shades and unlocking the door in preparation for the day's business, that her Pa had cut his leg bad and she needed some bandages and stuff to take care of it. She also bought some basic food supplies from him using the money Mathews had given her. She was about to leave when she noticed a small depot for one of the local stage lines and there, hanging over the door, was a sign that read "Telegraph." Remembering the name of the Doctor in Dodge City, she formed the message to send, in her head, then strolled across the street concentrating on the role she was playing. Walking into the office she was confronted by a sleepy young man behind the desk where the telegraph key was located. It looked like he had been there all night.

"Can I send a wire from here?" she asked.

"If you've got the money," the young man – not that much older than herself - with a pock marked face and corn colored hair, looked at the scruffy young boy standing in front of him. "Don't think I've seen you around here before."

"Me an' my Pa are just passing through, he wants me to send a wire to someone in Dodge City, an old friend of his."  
"Why doesn't he come and send it himself?"

"Well.." think fast Ginny, she could hear her mother say, "..he don't write so good and he feels bad about it."

The man said nothing, just looked at 'Jimmy'. For a moment she wondered if he saw through the character she was playing, but he turned to a box of papers on the desk.

"Write your message out on one of those forms over there and we'll see if you have enough money."

She had never done this before but trying to seem confident decided what to write and after a few minutes handed him the finished note.

"That's fine, it'll cost you a dollar and a half."

Turning out pockets in the old baggy pants she finally came up with enough money and was about to leave.

"Whoa there! – Who am I sending this to?" She managed to recall the doctor's name and address that Mathews had told her.

"What's your name?"

"Jimmie Mathews."

"Where are you staying?"

Jimmie looked startled "Why do you need to know that?"

" So we can deliver a reply if there is one."

"Don't worry – I'll just check back with you here." Jimmie remembered to stuff hands in pockets as he walked away. Ginny had tried to learn to whistle thinking that would add depth to her character – but so far she'd been unsuccessful.

It was broad daylight by the time 'Jimmie' started on his way back to the warehouse. There had been no sign of Colter's men as yet, even so the route the young boy took was circuitous and from time to time he stopped to inspect a particular rock or something on the ground, making the opportunity to look back and check.

Mathews was awake but not making much sense when she arrived back at their hiding place. She had used the coat he had been wearing as a cover to keep him warm last night, but it was flung back on the floor at the side of the old mattress he was lying on. She looked carefully at him wondering who this man was. He was so different from any of Colter's friends. He had treated her decently, even trusted her, and had not thought of her as a commodity to be traded for favors. His face was covered with small beads of sweat that tracked down and onto the collar of his shirt. She had noticed his blue eyes earlier, but now they were clouded and the mass of dark curly hair was matted to his forehead. That hair brought back memories of a Spaniard who had once courted her mother. Genevieve had been very young at the time but thinking about it, she could remember calling him Papa.

Mathews uttered that name again, "Kitty", he had said the same name several times during the night, now he was tossing his head and his hand reached out and finding hers, grasped it.

"Kitty," he said again and seemed to relax for a while.

She knew she had to clean the wound in his leg. She had never done anything like that before, but did watch as a doctor cleaned a wound in one of her uncle's men who had got in a gunfight. All the hands were working somewhere else and Colter had told her to help the doctor. Now she had to remember what he did.

She knew there was a knife in one of her friends pockets, she had seen him use it. She searched his coat and then his pants till she found it. She also found two flat metal plates wrapped in a cloth, she had no idea what they were but they must be important if he had carried them all this way.

Carefully she cut the fabric of his pants away from the wound. It was swollen and hot and red streaks were beginning to run up and down his leg, extending out like the points of a star.

The man in the general store had given her some liquid to clean it with and she opened the bottle and poured a generous amount into the wound. The effect was amazing. The man almost came up off the bed with a scream. He realized where he was and managed to stifle the noise, falling back onto the makeshift bed.

"I'm sorry," she was flustered now, " I didn't know it would hurt that bad."

"It's all right, I wasn't prepared for it that's all." His face was still tight and his teeth clenched. The burning from what he knew must have been alcohol, continued for several minutes. Finally it began to subside and he could think once again.

"Is the bullet still in there?" he asked her.  
"I think so. There is only one wound, nowhere where it could have passed clean through. I have never done this before, I know I need to clean it and put a new bandage, can you hold still?"

"I'll try." He could feel her nervous gentle fingers working around his knee, the pain shot through him but tried not to show it because he didn't want to scare her.

"Why didn't you get the train to Dodge like I told you?" he asked when she had finished.

"I had a better idea."

Fortunately he lay back exhausted and closing his eyes, slipped back in to the mists of unconsciousness. He had never asked about her idea.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 16

Josiah Colter was not a stupid man, if that had been the case he would not have the successful business that brought him in so much money. Once he knew that the John Weeks he had been hoping to do business with was not who he claimed to be, he set wheels in motion to find out who he really was. At first he thought the man must be another agent from the secret service, but from contacts he had in Washington that did not seem to be the case.

He couldn't help but see how that boy Taylor eyed Jennifer and knew he wanted to take her and make her his wife. Colter could use this as a big enticement, promising she would be his once they found her. He knew that was not going to be good for Jennifer, she was scared of the man – but he easily convinced himself that Jennifer was almost a grown woman now and must learn to accept her place in life.

The key to finding Jennifer was finding the tall man. That would be his deal with Mr. William Taylor.

William Taylor may have been a young man without good looks who had a surly attitude and could be even lazy and slovenly at times, but he did recognize something he wanted when he saw it. Colter's niece was something he wanted very much. He felt he had such power over her. She feared him and that made him feel good.

Taylor moved relatively freely around the offices in Washington as he collected necessities for the printing press. Surprisingly, in spite of his bad attitude towards work, he had a good brain and a tenacious ability to go after what he wanted and he really wanted that beautiful young girl. Colter had offered the ultimate prize and he was going to win it. He would apply all his talent and initiative to find the information that the Boss requested.

He found out that the tall man had first been seen in the company of Mr. Nathanial Quartermaine, who he knew was in some way connected to the Secret Service. Although he wasn't sure what role that man played in the organization it didn't really matter. From there he found that Quartermaine had been seen many times in the offices of Mr. Charles Devens. To begin with Taylor had no idea who Devens was either, but a little research soon revealed that he was the Attorney General, and as such he controlled the US Marshal's service. That was interesting. The man who had been hanging around the printing shop could well be a US Marshal, he hadn't been wearing a badge or anything but he did have an undeniable air of authority about him that some lawmen possessed. Now that would surely be a piece of information Colter would like to have. He just knew the pretty young dark haired girl was his. Colter would have to give him the prize now.

He tried asking the printer Milton Carney about the man who had spent time in the printing office. He even went so far as to improve his own skills, having everything ready for the press to roll and showing more interest in his work. In spite of all this effort he got nothing out of Carney and he could only assume the old man was too stupid to know anything useful anyway. At least he had some information for Colter – the connection with the Marshal's Service. Claiming illness he took a few days off from the printing office and made his way to Richmond to deliver his findings to the Boss.

-XX-

Colter became quite excited when he heard the news. A US Marshal, that made sense. He didn't know how many US Marshal's there were, but the man who had pretended to be Weeks would stand out in any crowd. Colter had contacts all over the country. Many bands of crooks, thieves and swindlers owed him some type of loyalty. By putting out the word – together with a reward – he should have an answer soon, and when he found the man he was looking for, he knew he would also find that ungrateful girl. No-one got the better of Josiah Colter.

It was several days before Colter heard from men he sent to St. Louis. He had thought that any man trying to flee from the big city's on the east coast would have to travel west and St. Louis was a location served by many rail roads. His men had boarded several trains heading in that direction looking for the tall man and the young girl. It should be an easy combination to spot. They told Colter how they had located Weeks on a train just east of St. Louis. There had been a fight and one of their number had been pushed from the train and killed by that John Weeks. On the other hand they were certain they had put a bullet in him and he was probably dead by now. There had been no sign of the girl, they had searched the train thoroughly and were certain she had not been aboard.

That same day he got a reply to his offer of a reward. A simple wire from a man in Garden City Kansas, just a line that read, "Marshal Matt Dillon, Dodge City, Kansas." That was one town where he had no contacts. Since Dillon had moved in a few years ago they had all left or where now in prison, one had even been hanged. He certainly had a score to settle with Dillon if he was still alive.

Through a series of wires with the contact in Garden City he learned that indeed Dillon had not been seen in Dodge for several months. He also leaned that Dr. Adams, the only physician in town, had recently left by train and was headed for St. Louis.

That is where he needed to be. It was more than 800 miles away, even by fast train that would be at least three days travel, but it would be worth it. He reasoned that it was no coincidence for a doctor to be travelling to St. Louis – it had to mean that Dillon was alive, and that girl was most likely with him and possibly the precious plates from his printing press.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 17

Jimmie – the character she had created – spent the next few days hanging around the telegraph office, waiting for a reply or better still for someone to show up. So as not to be too obvious she started carrying packages and bags for people as they arrived on the few stagecoaches that went through the little town daily. It was not a big crossroads and only a few local routes went through there so her self-imposed employment did not pay well. She worried about Mr. Mathews, his leg was all swollen and red and most of the time he was burning up with fever. She didn't forget about Colter's men either, remaining on the lookout for anyone of them who might recognize her.

Somehow Mr. Mathews was hanging on. Sometimes he would be conscious and quite lucid. He had her take his knife and make scratches across the face of the plates he had been carrying – just in case Colter should ever find them. He also told her to keep cleaning the wound in his leg– even if, in a confused state he begged her not to. Maybe he could get enough strength back that they could continue their journey. She never told him about the telegram – indeed she didn't know if anyone would answer it, but she could not give up on this man who had helped her escape from Colter.

It was evening and she was making her way back to the old warehouse that had become home. She glanced behind her as she left the telegraph office and saw a man riding in. He pulled up in front of the small depot and went inside. She knew him, he had been one of her Uncle's men and she had seen him on the train. For a moment she was frozen in her tracks. There was a small alleyway that went behind the office and she decided to hide there until he had gone. Hopefully the old man who was still there in the office, would not give her away.

Colter's man soon left, he did not look like he had found the information he was looking for. She just began to think she was safe when two things happened. From her left – from the west end of town, she saw a buggy approaching. In it were two people – a grey haired man and a lady wearing beautiful clothes and a fashionable hat. She remembered her mother dressing like that. She wanted to run out and meet them, but looking the other way she saw another young man walking towards the office – he was the man who had been there the first evening she had come into town, the one who sent the telegram for her. The buggy pulled up in front of the office, Colter's man was about to mount up on his horse, if she went out there now he would see her for sure, but she didn't want all these people to meet up.

Deciding to risk all, she played her self-created role to the very best of her ability. It was her only option.

-XX-

The train ride to St. Louis had not been unpleasant except that both of them were worried about what they might find when they got there. Barney had been very good about telling them the location – as near as he knew it – of the small stagecoach depot and telegraph office about fifteen miles east of town.

Immediately on arrival, Kitty and Doc had rented a small wagon and set off along the only road leading in the direction they needed to go. Having inquired from the few local inhabitants they met along the way, they finally arrived at the somewhat dilapidated building that was the stage depot and telegraph office. Of course they still had to find Jimmie Mathews and hopefully Matt Dillon. Doc was preparing to step down from the wagon when some young scruffy boy came running towards them.

"Can I unload your bags, ma'am?" Kitty noticed he came running up to her side of the wagon, to her other side she watched as a man stopped to look at them for a moment before mounting his horse. The boy had his head down in the buggy as if he was pulling out bags.

"I'll set everything out and watch it till your stage gets in," he went on.

Kitty started to protest, but the look he gave her told her to go along with it.

"Well I guess that will be all right."

The boy pulled out two small bags and went to set them in front of the office. The man on the horse watched for a minute and then rode off.

The boy turned to look at them both. Kitty looked harder at the young boy. Saw his delicate features and smooth hands. It didn't all add up.

"What's your name?" she asked, looking in her reticule as if to find some coins.

"Jimmie Matthews, Ma'am." Kitty noticed he did not remove the old felt hat. At last he seemed to make up his mind.

"Are you friends of Mr. Matthews?"

"Could be." It was Doc who answered.

"Doctor Adams and Kitty," the boy said in relief. "I'm sorry Miss Kitty, Mr. Matthews never did tell me your last name.

"Maybe you should take us to him."

"We have to be careful, that was one of my Uncle's men. He's looking for us."

Doc had not looked closely at the boy. "Well jump up here young Jimmie and take the lines, show us around the town till he gets tired of following us."

Fortunately the cowboy was riding away in the opposite direction, and did not show any interest in them at all. Jimmie climbed up in the buggy and managed to squeeze between Kitty and Doc. Doc was surprised how frail the boy seemed to be for a kid of his age, he was light on his feet too, more nimble than he would expect a young teenage boy to be. He put the thought out of his mind as he handed over the lines and released the brake. Ginny had only rarely driven a buggy, but figured that now was not the time for explanations. He did the best he could, guiding the horse between the maze of warehouses. When he finally got to the one that they were using he pulled over to let the two people off then he jumped down and pushed on the rusty metal door.

Ushering everyone inside he closed the door back and lit the single candle he had managed to find out back of the telegraph office.

"Mr. Mathews," he called softly, "your friends are here." He got no answering response. He led them over to the staircase beneath which the man lay.

"Oh my God." Kitty's hands flew to her mouth, "Doc?"

"Now hang on Kitty." The physician was already on his knees beside the big man. He opened his medical bag and took out the stethoscope and Ginny watched as he pulled back the old coat and ripped open the shirt to listen to the man's heart and lungs. "It's his leg," she told him urgently, "there's a bullet in it." She really didn't want to watch as he undid the bandage she had applied that morning – the wound had looked so bad. "I need to go find a place for the horse and buggy – we can't leave it out there in case they come looking for us."

Doc was too intent on his work to pay much attention. He was getting frustrated because the flickering light from the candle was not enough for him to work by.

Even before he had the bandage removed Doc could feel the heat coming from the leg. He looked over at Kitty, she was kneeling by the Marshal's head, pushing the damp dark curls back from his forehead.

"It's bad, isn't it?" she looked the physician squarely in the face. He swiped his mustache and bent his head, just nodding in reply. There was silence for a few moments.

"We've go to get him out of this filthy place, I daren't cut into that wound here, and I need to operate soon. That bullet's been in there too long already."

Both of them stared towards the big rusty door when they heard a noise – but it was only the boy returning.

He came and joined the little group in the small circle of flickering light from the single candle. Sitting on the floor between them, he removed the old felt hat from his head and long dark tangled hair fell down past his shoulders. The face looked from Doc to Kitty, then tears began to roll down the grubby cheeks.

"I did everything I could. I didn't know…" at this point she threw her arms around Kitty's neck and sobbed. Kitty realized that this was no young boy.  
"Doc..?"  
He just nodded.

"Suppose you start at the beginning young lady," he said in a softer version of his usually gruff voice.

Kitty passed her a small handkerchief and the girl wiped her eyes and recovered her composure. "I'm sorry, I just was so scared he'd die and Mr. Colbert would find me. I couldn't go back." She took a big breath and then told them the story from the time Mr. Matthews had arrived at her Uncle's mansion.

Doc got up from the floor and paced for a few minutes, then he seemed to make up his mind.

"Ginny, we have to get out of here, I have to find somewhere cleaner to take the Marshal so that I can get that bullet out of his leg. If I don't do it soon he.. well at best he could lose his leg.

"I never knew he was a Marshal, he never said so."

"Can you think of somewhere we can take him?"  
"He wouldn't go to a doctor's office or a hospital– although I don't think I have seen one around here – he said that was the first place Colter would look."

"Kitty, there must be a Marshal's office in St. Louis maybe we can get some help from there."

Their conversation was interrupted by a low moan from the man lying on the dirty mattress. Doc was there immediately.

"Matt it's Doc, can you hear me?"  
"Doc? How..?" The effort of the two words seemed to exhaust him.

"Don't worry about that now, I need to get you out of here." But the marshal didn't seem to hear him. He'd fallen back into that confused fevered state he'd been in when they found him.

They fell into a tense silence, Doc reaching for Matt's wrist from time to time, checking his pulse and also his forehead for fever.

"We really don't have a lot of time, if we could just get him up off of this dirty floor. I have to get that bullet out."  
It was about then that there was a scratching noise coming from an even darker corner of the warehouse. Something scurried between them. Kitty had worked around waterfront towns on the Mississippi before – she recognized rats when she heard them. Ginny jumped up in fear and began jumping around.

"They did that the other night, one of them ran right over here. I could see it in the light from the candle, I ran up onto the steps there."

Doc looked up at the stairs. "What's up there?"

"It looks like it was once an office or something. The stairs aren't too steady though."

Doc got up and carefully started up the stairway, taking their only source of light with him. A couple of the treads had rotted out, but by being careful he made it to the top. With some trepidation he turned the handle and opened the door. Indeed the room did look like it had once been an office. There was a long trestle table in the middle that took up most of the room. On one end of it sat an oil lamp so dirty that even if you lit it, no light would penetrate the layers of grime on the chimney. There were two old filing cabinets, some discarded papers on the floor and in one corner a very old stove. The table would be good if they could get it down the stairs – at least he could get Matt up off of the floor and maybe when daylight finally came he could remove that bullet. He went across to the table and tested it seeing how heavy it was, his heart fell – there was no way they could move it, the stairs would give way if they tried to take it down to the warehouse floor.

They had to leave now.

"Anything useful up there Doc?" called Kitty as he started back down again.

"No, nothing we can use." His voice echoed around the empty building. "We need to leave before daylight. I'll bind Matt's leg as best I can and we'll get him in the back of the wagon. If we make camp somewhere outside of town, it will be better than this."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 18

Colter began to think the train would never get to St. Louis. In actual fact his men had told him they would meet him at Miller's Crossroads – a small community just east of the main city. It was just a local stop, not many people boarded or left the train there, but it was the closest to the spot where his men had shot the Marshal. They told him they had been combing the town but hadn't seen any trace of him or the girl. What worried Colter was that they did not find a body either, so presumably the man was still alive and maybe he still had the counterfeit plates with him. He hated to close down the operation in Richmond. The location had been ideal, the old mansion he had purchased was far enough out of town that very few people even knew of it's existence and finding the stone building where he could house the printing press had been an added bonus. Everything had run smoothly for at least two years and now this Marshal had to stick his nose in and destroy everything. As for the ungrateful girl, he had done so much for her – given her a decent place to live and nice clothes to wear, and now she had run off with Dillon. He planned to find both of them.

Two of his men were waiting there with horses. He saw them as he climbed down from the train. He was hoping they had some news for him, but apparently not. They rode to a small campsite they had set up a couple of miles east of town. The glow of a small camp fire was all he could see as they pulled into the clearing, they told him it was near where Weeks had left the train and they would take him to the exact location in the morning.

-XX-

Colter looked around the area by the train tracks. It was still barely light but Colter always believed in an early start. His men had found the place where the lawman had fallen. There was dried blood still visible on the grass. Other than that there was very little to be found, too many days had passed for any tracks to remain. Colter was an intelligent man, he gave himself time to think. Most likely Dillon would have followed the rail lines towards St Louis.

"That place where you met me last night, tell me about it."

The two men who worked for him looked at each other. Finally one of them spoke.

"Not much to tell Mr. Colter, just a wide place in the road really. A relay station for the local stage company, none of the big lines come through here. There's a livery and a general store but not much else."

"Let's go take another look."

They rode on in to the town and by he time they got there it was daylight and the few businesses were opening up for the day. He immediately spotted the rail yard with several big warehouses in various states of disrepair.

"Did you search back there?" he asked pointing in the general direction.

"We rode around a time or two but never saw nothin'."

Colter knew that if he wanted a place to hide out for a few days, this would make perfect sense. It had access to the rail. There was a pump for water for the trains and although the buildings were run down anyone of them would provide shelter. If Dillon was around here still, this was where he would likely be.

-XX-

Somehow they had managed to get Matt into the back of the small wagon. Doc had wrapped the man's leg with every bandage he could find and was very particular about protecting it.

It had not been easy, the big lawman was fevered and only semi conscious, he couldn't help them much, in fact the few movements he did manage made their job more difficult. Any movement caused pain to shoot through his leg like shards of flame and in his confused state he would move his arm and hand to protect it.

They were there by the back door of the warehouse when Ginny suddenly remembered the printing plates Dillon was guarding. She ran back inside to get them and as she did so caught sight of three men on horseback riding down the row of disused buildings. With a gasp of horror she saw that the man leading them was Colter. Grabbing the plates she ran back to the others. The men where working their way down the line of buildings searching as they went. Doc and Kitty were sitting up in the front of the wagon when she arrived breathless. She threw the plates into the back of the wagon as she whispered hoarsely, "They're here, Colter and two of his men, they are bound to see us if we pullout now."

"They'll surely find us if we don't." Kitty was already plunging her hands into the small carpet bag she had under the seat, thankful now that she had brought Matt's pistol.

"Can you fire a gun Ginny?"

"I've never tried."

"Well you are going to get a crash course. Doc get Matt out of here." She said as she climbed down from the wagon."  
"Kitty what do you think you are doing? I can't let you stay here, get back in this wagon."

"Don't argue Doc, if they find Matt it's all over, same goes for Ginny. Matt needs your skills right now so go, find some help or something. We'll keep them busy."

She had got the small Derringer from her reticule and handed it to Ginny.

"Here take this and hold it so." Kitty showed her how to hold the gun and point it, it was lucky it was only a small pistol because the girls hands were too small to have held anything larger.

Ginny was half afraid of the cold weapon placed in her hand, but called upon all her acting skills to stay calm and follow this red headed lady's lead.

Kitty took the Colt that belonged to Matt. It was a heavy gun for her to use, but several times out on the prairie during some of those rare moments they had gotten out of town together, he had taught her to fire it and as it turned out she was not a bad shot.

Doc reluctantly pulled the wagon away, every instinct told him to let the women go with Matt and stay and fight this man Colter by himself. But Kitty was right, if Matt was to have any chance at all it was his hands that would save him. He wouldn't go far, maybe wind between the buildings and get to that stage office where they had met Ginny. From there he would send a telegram to the Marshal's office in St Louis, maybe they could get help here before it was too late.

He heard gunfire in the distance, then all was quiet.

-XX-

Kitty and Ginny were looking out through a gap in the rusty door to the warehouse they had been occupying. Kitty knew they needed to get the men's attention so Doc could get away safely. The men were headed towards them. Kitty pushed open the door and stepped outside, colt pistol drawn and ready.

"Looking for someone?" she asked. Ginny stepped out behind her, she had removed her hat so that her long dark heir fell loosely around her shoulders. The effect on Colter was immediate. He focused totally on the two women standing there, aiming pistols at him. He came riding towards them, hired hands in tow. There was no way they would notice the wagon leaving now.

Kitty was surprised she was not more afraid of the men as they approached.

Colter looked at his "niece" with such evil intent that Kitty could feel it.

"You have led me a merry dance young lady – just wait till I get you home."

He continued moving towards them, he was now about ten feet away.

"That's far enough, Mister." Kitty was standing her ground.

"What you gonna do lady, fire that thing?"

"Don't give me an excuse, because believe me I will enjoy it. Now throw down your weapon and have your men do the same.

Colter couldn't believe this, two women thnking they could get the better of him.

"Take the pair of them boys," he ordered his men and they started to get down from their horses.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." She was squeezing on trigger of Matt's gun and Colter was close enough to see the hammer moving back."

"Whoa now lady, don't let that thing go off by mistake." Who was this crazy woman anyway? He thought. She might just fire that thing.

Kitty spoke again, her voice clear and commanding.

"Believe me, if this goes off it will not be a mistake. Now I'm not going to tell you again, drop your guns."

"You can't get all of us, you know."

"I can see to it that I get you Colter."

The man was surprised by her tenacity.

"I guess you better drop your guns boys," he said with a half smile. As he pulled his own from its holster, Kitty watched. Instead of dropping it, he was lining up to fire. She pulled the trigger the rest of the way and in less than a second Colter was on the ground. His men turned tail and spurred their horses away from there.

Kitty was shaking now that the action was over. She really hadn't wanted to kill the man, but she sure wasn't going to let him get to Ginny or Matt.

Ginny came up to her and threw her arms around this strong red headed lady that had come into her life. Tears were running down the girls face. They stood there together for several minutes. Then footsteps were running towards them. Ginny looked up

"It's all right, that's the old man who runs the stage depot."  
He looked at the girl, surprised to recognize her as Jimmie, the boy who had been hanging around the depot for the last few days.

"Don't shoot ladies," he called. As he got closer he continued, "Doc told me what was going on and I have sent a wire to the Marshal's office in St Louis. Someone should be here in a few hours. Your friend Doctor Adams is getting ready to do surgery on Marshal Dillon – he said if you were finished firing guns he could do with your help.

"What about him?" Ginny pointed to the body of Josiah Colter.

"We'll let the Marshals take care of him when they arrive. Come on now, I've got some coffee on."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 19

Doc already had most of the bandages removed from Matt's leg when Kitty joined him in the small back room behind the Stage office. He was just cutting through the last of the bindings when she walked in. The part of the limb she could see was red and swollen and the wound itself was larger than she would have expected.

The physician was having a difficult time, his patient was only half awake and was trying to protect his leg by pushing the physicians hands away, so Doc was having to use the scissors in one hand while trying to control Matts random arm movements with the other.

He turned and looked at her, relieved to see she was obviously no worse for wear after meeting Mr. Colter.

"Kitty I need some help – come and hold his arm so I can take a look at this."

He cleared the last of the bandages then began, as gently as possible, probing the wound with his fingers trying to determine the extent of the damage. To begin with Dillon fought his every movement, but once Kitty started talking to him in soft gentle tones he calmed down.

"Just let Doc take a look Matt, it's going to be all right."

He tried to look at her, but fever confused his mind and he could not find her with his eyes.

"It's all right Cowboy, I am right here." She tightened her grip on his hand, willing him to look at her.

Finally he found her, his usually clear blue eyes were clouded with pain and not focusing too well, but he could make out her outline.

"Kitty?" His voice was so weak she could barely hear him.

She bent down to be a little closer and continued talking softly to him, anything to distract him from his pain.

Doc finally looked up from his task and she could see all the blood soaked bandages that he had removed. There was so much blood that she wondered if the big man could have enough left in his body to recover from this.

Kitty looked into Doc's face, she could see the worry there.

"Can you fix it Doc?" It was a quiet pleading question.

He looked directly at her and she could see the concern in his eyes.

"I'm not going to pretend it will be easy, but you know I'll do everything I can."

Kitty was trying not to give in to her fears, at least she had found Matt and he was still alive. That had to count for something. She took the physicians hand and squeezed it gently. Somehow Doc would pull him through, he always did.

"I know you will."

He stood there looking at her for a moment then his features became serious as he removed his coat and rolled his shirtsleeves up beyond his elbows.

"I'm going to need you to boil some water for me, then send Ginny to find some clean towels and lots more bandages. I'll also need some kind of alcohol."

He was going through his bag sorting out the instruments he would need and placing them in the enamel bowl he always used. He removed the small bottle of laudanum and set it to one side –he only had enough for two or three doses so he was waiting till the last minute to administer it.

Kitty went out to the front office and got the clerk to fire up the stove so she could get a pot of water going. Fortunately Matt had fallen back into a restless sleep and, for the moment, did not miss her.

Doc was very particular about setting all his instruments at the ready before he would even start to operate. With the help of the man who ran the station and the younger man who worked there at nights, he got the bed positioned so he could get as much light from the window as possible. They had found him a small table on which to set up his instruments and another one where he set the bandages and the alcohol in the order he would need them once he was finished.

He wasn't looking forward to what he was about to do, the bullet had been in there too long and there were too many large blood vessels, not to mention nerves, in the area he would be dealing with. Making a final check that everything was ready, he poured a large dose of the laudanum into a glass and handed it to Kitty.

"Get this down him while I go wash my hands."

He took his glasses from their case in his vest pocket, and deliberately put them on, carefully tucking the curved ends behind his ears.

As he washed his hands Doc went over, in his mind, the anatomy of the area he would be working in. The bullet had entered Matt's leg just below the knee and as far as his initial examination could tell him, it was lodged firmly between the two bones that made up the lower part of the leg. It had entered from the lateral side, a little posterior rather than straight on. He had managed to get the big Marshal onto his side, then propped the leg up on some towels, he hoped it would make it a little easier to get at.

He dried his hands on a clean towel and walked over to his friend. This was not going to be easy and he prayed his skills would be sufficient for the task ahead.

He took a probe and inserted into the wound. Deep down he knew he could not find the bullet this way but he had to try. After several failed attempts he placed the probe in a bowl for Kitty to clean again and took a scalpel and, with care, made a long incision down the side of Matt's leg, starting at the knee and extending down about four inches towards his foot.

There were a number of blood vessels here – some of which were already damaged or torn, and a couple more he tied and cut so he could follow the bullet track. At this point he picked up two small retractors and had Kitty hold the edges of the wound apart with them so he could continue to track the small piece of lead deeper into the cavity he was creating.

From time to time the Marshal would groan and try to move, but somehow between them they kept him still.

After an hour or so Doc took a break, Kitty could see the stress lines on his face. She went out to the front office and brought him back a cup of coffee.

"Here Doc, sit down a minute."

He covered the incision with a clean towel and stepped away from his patient then putting his hands to his back he stretched. This was not a comfortable position to work in.

He took the cup and swallowed half of the liquid, then wiped his face with his left hand. Kitty knew better than to ask how it was going.

Two minutes was all he took – then he washed his hands again and returned to work. He continued dissecting down till at last he could see the bullet. Indeed it was wedged in place and he had to remove a small piece of bone before he could pry it loose.

At long last he reached for the bullet forceps and carefully worked them into the small space he had created. Kitty was holding her breath as she watched him. It took three attempts before, finally, he got a firm enough grip to pull it back out. He held it up and his red headed assistant smiled. Doc could relax some too but he knew they were far from out of the woods yet. Closing the wound and trying to repair some of the muscle damage took longer than he thought it would.

In the end it took Doc three hours to remove the bullet from Matt's leg and get the wound cleaned out and patched back together to his satisfaction. Kitty had stood and helped him the whole time. There had not been a lot of room to work but at least it was clean in this little room and Doc had an adequate supply of boiling water to sterilize his instruments.

When he was finished he threw the last instrument he was using into a bowl with the others and sat down heavily in the only chair available.

Kitty went over to him. "Is he going to be alright?" she asked quietly – almost scared to receive an answer.

Doc thought a moment. "I'll be honest with you Kitty, it was an ugly wound to start with, that bullet sat in there for four or five days and there was a lot of infection. I've done the best I can with it, we'll just have to wait see. It's going to be a long recovery – even for Matt."

-XX-

A marshal and deputy had arrived from St. Louis, and tried to be helpful but had no idea what was going on. They had buried Colter and now came to the stage office looking for answers.

"Where is Marshal Dillon?" the one who introduced himself as Bill Bancroft asked.

Doc came forward – "he's in the back room here but I don't know how much use he'll be."

He took the man back to see Dillon who was barely awake, his mind still clouded from the laudanum.

Doc checked his patient's pulse and felt his forehead.

"Matt this is Marshal Bancroft from St. Louis, do you feel up to talking to him for a few minutes?"

Matt looked up at the newcomer, and then remembered something. "Doc," the physician was about to leave but turned around.

"You need something Matt?"

Dillon nodded, "ask Ginny … plates that I was carrying."

Doc left the room.

"Can you tell me what happened, Dillon?"

"Special assignment. Send those plates to Mr. Charles Devens and tell him Colter is dead." The effort exhausted him and his head fell to one side.

There were a hundred questions Bancroft wanted to ask, but the man who could answer them was asleep again.

"Is there anything else I can do to help, Dr. Adams?"

Doc handed him the small package as Matt had requested.

"You might send someone to find the two men that were with Colter. I think Miss Russell should be able to give you some kind of a description. I'd say she scared them pretty good, but I'd hate to think of them coming back to look for Ginny or Matt.

"I understand. I'll leave a deputy here to stay with you for a few days."

Four days passed before Matt was able to sit up and hold a conversation. Kitty had sat with him most of that time. She had bathed his forehead when the fevers came and tried to keep him calm when he became agitated and confused. Worst of all were the dressing changes that Doc insisted on doing at least twice a day to try to prevent the spread of infection in the wound. Kitty could see it was almost as painful for the physician as it was for the patient. All she could do was try to comfort both of them with her calm voice.

At last the fevers gave way to periods when he was awake. He would hold onto her hand and not let her out of his sight. At first he was afraid she was just a dream but as his condition improved he wanted to know how she got here and what went on after the last scenes he remembered in the warehouse. He was vaguely aware that they had moved him in a wagon, but after that it was a blank until he woke up where he was now.

Ginny came to see him a few times, even sat with him while Kitty rested. She told him how Kitty had faced Colter and finished up having to shoot him. "She is an amazing lady Mr. Mathews." He smiled at the use of the name she had given him,

"You're right Ginny, she is amazing."

"You should marry her. She really loves you, you know."

He smiled again but could think of no suitable reply.

"Yes I should," was all he said as he closed his eyes.

Another day passed and Matt began demanding his clothes. Kitty could see that Ginny could do with some thing other than the baggy pants and tattered shirt she had been wearing since the first day they had met, so she suggested a shopping trip to St. Louis for the two of them. There was no way she could find clothes for Matt at the small general store, and Ginny deserved better than the course garments they had there.

Doc said he could manage Matt for a few hours, but not to bother buying boots for the Marshal as he would not be walking anywhere for a while. He thought that would be one way to keep the man in bed.

While the women were gone, Doc took the opportunity to talk with Matt.

The Marshal knew what he was going to say. He could feel the pain every time he moved his leg and could tell that right now it would not hold his weight if he tried to stand. His dread was that it would be like this permanently and he really didn't want to hear those words said aloud.

Doc moved the only chair in the room so he could sit next to the bed.

"I guess you know that was a bad wound Matt." He got no reply so continued on.

"There's a good chance it will recover more or less completely, but you have to listen to me on this. When we get you back to Dodge you are going to be on crutches for a while, probably at least six weeks. No weight at all on that leg. After that we'll see how things go. You were very lucky you know. It is amazing you didn't lose your leg – that bullet was in there for about five days and it did a lot of damage. I just want you to think on that before you start getting up and running up and down Front Street, because it won't work this time."

Matt was almost grinning – at least it was going to be all right, he would be able to pin that badge on once more, it may take a while, but it was better than he thought.

"Thanks Doc. I guess you'll be sending me a bill. Just remember the sooner I get back to work the sooner I can pay you."

The physician made a noise halfway between a cough and a growl, then he shook his head, wiped his mustache and looked down at his recalcitrant patient.

"I really don't know why I bother." He turned and left the room.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

**Counterfeit**

Chapter 20

It was several more days before Doc felt Matt was strong enough to make the trip back to Dodge. I

It had been almost noon when the train pulled into the familiar depot where Sam and Chester were waiting there to meet them. Doc insisted that Matt be taken to his office so he could keep a close eye on him for a few days. Of course the Marshal objected strongly – but didn't really have a lot of choice.

After two more days without fever and showing Doc that he was able to eat again, he was allowed to go to Kitty's rooms over the Long Branch. It had taken several of the men to help him up the stairs, but no-one commented on the arrangement, after all who better to take care of him than Kitty Russell.

He was lying on the familiar bed waiting for her to finish helping in the bar with the lunch time business, the window was open and a gentle breeze was wafting into the room. How he had missed this feeling, contentment, happiness and anticipation that his lady would soon be here.

He was half asleep when she finally climbed the stairs and entered the room. She flopped into a chair and kicked off her shoes, the sound brought him back to reality.

"Hey Cowboy, I thought you were going to sleep the day away." She crossed the room and placed a kiss on his lips. He reached for her but she playfully ducked out of the way.

"Uh- huh – Doc said absolutely no until your leg is much better."

At first he was disappointed, but she had flung open the door of the armoire looking for some more comfortable clothes to wear and he could see his coat hanging there.

"Quartermaine kept his word," he cried. "My coat, he sent it back."

"Yes and your boots and badge – and don't forget your gun and holster. It gave us all a scare when it showed up."

She brought the coat to him and he felt it. Until the day he had parted with it, he never really enjoyed wearing it. Now it was different somehow. As soon as he was up and around it would be the first thing he would put on. It was so good to be himself again, even if he couldn't return to work or ..other pleasures.. just yet.

A few more days and Doc brought him a pair of crutches and told him he could start moving around so long as he didn't put any weight on that leg.

At first it was frustrating to be here in Dodge and watch somebody else doing his job, but then he began to put his time to good use. With Chester's help he began sending telegrams to all the lawmen in and around the San Francisco area looking for Ginny's aunt. Finally he located her and she and her husband came east to Dodge to meet Genevieve Gitano. The aunt looked a lot like her niece, with long black curly hair and dark eyes. They were a match instantly. The woman's husband was more than willing to accept the young girl into their family which already consisted of four other children and although Genevieve was sad to leave her friends in Dodge, she knew she was going to a fine home in a big city where she could visit theatres and museums just as she had done in her younger years. All of them were there to see her off as they boarded the stage headed west. She hugged Kitty and Doc and even Chester who she had come to know during her time in this dusty town on the prairie. At last she came to Matt – he was standing there balancing on his crutches. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, "Goodbye Mr. Mathews," she grinned, "thank you for.."

The driver calling to passengers that he was ready to leave interrupted her.

"Come back and see us sometime Ginny."

"I will Marshal – and remember what I told you." She smiled again and nodded towards Kitty.

Matt said nothing, just nodded and drew a little closer to the red headed lady standing next to him. Chester stepped forward and opened the coach door and helped the ladies board. They all stood watching as the driver whipped up the horses and the stage picked up speed and headed out.

Matt had time to sit and write a lengthy report to send to the Attorney generals office, in which he was careful to point out the part played by William Taylor. It turned out the young apprentice had not been seen anywhere around Washington since he had been at Colter's place that day. Agents were hunting for him – but so far he had not been found.

To begin with the thought of six weeks inactivity horrified Dillon, but he soon found that it gave Kitty and him time to catch up on the months they had missed. He teased her a little at first, saying Quartermaine should have hired her to do the job. Secretly he was proud of how she had handled a gun and protected young Ginny.

As he got stronger there were days of picnics, fishing and just generally enjoying each other. To begin with he found it embarrassing that she would have to help him in and out of the buggy, and sit there while she drove, but the pleasant afternoons they shared together in the cooling fall air made up for that.

About a month had passed and a letter arrived from Washington for Matt.

It was signed by the President and the Attorney General and commended him for the job he had done in helping save the country from financial disaster. Kitty and Chester wanted him to frame it and hang it on the wall in his office, but Matt – in his typical unassuming manner, returned it to the envelope and placed it at the back of a drawer in the filing cabinet. He slid the drawer closed and breathed a sigh of relief, trying to hide the memories of the assignment in there along with the envelope.

End


End file.
